Lost and Found
by MystryGAB
Summary: Cuddy realizes very quickly after the crash there's something wrong with House and goes after him.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the result of a prompt from Veronique. Well one of them. I have a couple. They'll be out soon on a page near you. In the meantime, I hope you like this one.  
_

_Disclaimer: I am not connected to David Shore or the television show once respected as House MD._

* * *

Chapter 1

"No idea where he is?" the police officer asked.

"No," she answered without delay, still too numb from the shock of it all.

"In these domestic situations it's not uncommon to get cold feet."

_Domestic situations. This was a domestic situation. _

"Are you asking me to file charges?" she asked the officer.

_He'd made them a cliché, a bad soap opera. _

"Just give me the paperwork," she said. He was not going to have the last word; he was not going to make her a victim. "If Greg House steps foot in my hospital again, or comes anywhere near me, I want him thrown in jail."

Everything was suddenly grey and hazy. Her chest tightened and her heart raced as she listened to the voices in the fog.

"We sent a unit over to his apartment and to the hospital."

"Yeah." It was Wilson. "He won't be there."

"Any ideas?"

"When you find him, you're going to arrest him?"

_Of course they will! Look what he did to my home! To me! To us. Yes, they'll arrest him._ She felt the tears fall down her face and heard herself wimper.

"Is there some reason you think I shouldn't?"

_Yes! There's something wrong. This isn't him. This isn't House._

"Knowing him, he'll be in a bar," Wilson sounded as lost and defeated as she felt. "He'll find one that matches how he feels inside. It'll be the most dark, depressing hold you can find in New Jersey."

Everything went black. She couldn't see anything. She felt anxious and afraid.

She heard the crash, the glass shattering, wood splintering, the metal bending upon impact. Then light. She could see. He was there. With her hairbrush.

_It can't be! This isn't right! Something's wrong!_

As he walks away smiling, almost cheerful, and she hears him say to Wilson. "You're right. I feel much better."

_No!...No!_

"Was there any indication that something would happen?" The policeman asked.

She shivered beneath the blanket draped over her shoulders. "Yeah," she says with a mirthless, bitter chuckle. "Every moment I spent with him. I was always waiting for something to happen. But this…"

_Not this! Not this! He's not violent. He wouldn't do this. It's not right! Something's wrong!_

There was his cane. She saw it first, lying in the dark and dreary alley. Even before she recognized his tennis shoe, his leg, the blood. There was so much blood.

_House! NO! House!_

* * *

Cuddy woke with a start, her heart racing, her body covered in a cold sweat.

It was the same dream over and over: the memory - mixed and broken – the ending an even greater nightmare. She hadn't been able to sleep longer than a few minutes all night. The dreams were haunting her, tormenting her.

It wasn't House.

Everytime she recalled what had happened, remembered his car coming through the dining room, the smug and intent look on his face as he handed her the hairbrush, the grin on his face as he walked away, she thought the same thing. It wasn't House. It just didn't follow logic, or even a natural progression of emotion.

Granted she was in shock. It had only been a few hours since the incident. She'd finished answering the questions from the police officer, agreeing to come to the station the next day to officially file charges and put out a restraining order, and checked on Wilson before the paramedics took him to the hospital. He was shaken and confused. He was in shock. And his wrist was broken.

_Broken! He broke Wilson's wrist. House._

She'd packed some things in a bag as the police and contractors finished their work removing the car, covering the gaping hole in the wall, securing the crime scene…

_Crime scene. House wouldn't do this._

She'd finally made it to her mom's house. Rachel was sleeping soundly in the bed beside her, completely unaware that her home was destroyed, her security ripped apart in a shameless act of violence.

_He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't do this._

Rachel had been at her mom's when House had crashed the car into the dining room. She had no idea the man she'd grown to love, her pirate friend, had turned into a monster…had tried to kill them.

_He wasn't trying to hurt me. It was my house. The house. House. Him. _

For once her mother had respected her needs and didn't insist she talk about it. She'd just hugged her tightly, then gently pushed her hair off her shoulders as she smiled sadly at her. It was strange to see her mother at a loss for what to say, so confused. It was almost as if she couldn't believe it either.

_House wouldn't do this. It didn't make any sense._

Cuddy had joined her daughter in the spare room. She'd curled up beside her in bed and let the exhaustion take over. She had quickly become horribly awakened from the nightmare. Three times she'd slept. Three times she'd been shaken from slumber by her own tears and anxiety. There was no escape. There was no pretending or denying. This was more than shock.

There was no way that was a premeditated act, she thought as she quietly slipped out of bed and began to dress. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. But he wasn't on the verge of a psychotic break.

She slipped on her socks and shoes as the thoughts ran rampant through her mind. He was impulsive, and childlike, with a tendency to act-out, but never in violence. Never!

_Something is wrong._

"You're going to look for him," she heard her mother say before she'd even finished closing the bedroom door.

Cuddy turned to face her mother in the small hall. She felt a strange mixture of shame, confusion and determination as she stood taller to prepare for the argument to come. She really was a cliché. The victim making excuses for the abuser.

"I have to," she said with clear resolve and insistence.

"Of course you do," Arlene answered dryly. "You're like animal control, only for deranged lunatics."

"He's not a deranged lunatics," Cuddy argued and pushed past her mom toward the front door. "Something is wrong with him."

"Something has always been wrong with him or you wouldn't have been with him in the first place."

Cuddy shook her head. She should have known the support and sympathy would be but a brief moment.

"You think he's sick? Or is it the drugs?"

Surprised by the question and the lack of condemnation in her tone, Cuddy turned to look at her mother again. There was calm curiosity in her expression.

"I don't know," Cuddy answered honestly. "I just know something's wrong. He wouldn't do this."

"I know," Arlene agreed.

Cuddy stared, dumbfounded.

"He's an ass, but he worships you," her mother shrugged as she explained. "You already know I thought you made a mistake in breaking up with him just because he took some drugs to make it through your cancer scare. It shouldn't be a surprise I agree with you that he wouldn't do this."

"But you know what he's been doing," Cuddy stammered. "All of the childish pranks, and marrying that woman! And he took experimental drugs that could have killed him…"

"And he tried to operate on his own leg," Arlene interrupted impatiently. "I know all of this. He's an idiot. And a jerk. And a total mess of a man. But I also know he loves you. Men do stupid things when the woman they love hurts them. Men like House do insane things."

"You're defending him?"

"I'm explaining him," Arlene corrected.

Cuddy felt her eyes well with tears again. "He ran his car into my home," she said. "He could have killed me. He could have killed Rachel."

Arlene stepped closer to Cuddy and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"And with every insane thing he's done," Arlene whispered in her hear. "With every careless prank, every desperate attempt to get your attention, every self-destructive move he made in his foolish attempts to stop the pain, you still don't believe he would intentionally do this. You still believe in him. He would never do anything to violently hurt you."

Cuddy leaned back to look her mother in the eye.

"I'm crazy when it comes to him," she acknowledged, ashamed at her admission.

"Yes, you are," her mother agreed. "And you're usually right."

Cuddy's eyes widened and she searched her mother's face. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother?"

Arlene rolled her eyes and pulled away from her. "If we turn out to be wrong about him, I'll help you kill him and bury the body. And I'll have you locked up for such atrocious taste in men!"

"And if we're right?"

Arlene sighed. "Then take care of him sweetheart. You need him."

Cuddy jerked, startled at her words.

"He's not the only one who's been dying these past months," she said. "He just does it louder."

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for your kind reviews. I'm glad you are enjoying it and that you are so willing to take the time to comment. It really does make a difference._

_ And to the guest reviewer who complimented my writing but objected to the overall idea of the prompt: there are always differences in opinions regarding these characters. I respect yours, but I share this opinion with many in the fandom that this was out of character. In my opinion, though House was no saint, he was not violent in that manner and had actually shown a great deal of contempt for people who showed this type of behavior. That said, he is a fictional character, and as such they could write him doing it and I can write him doing something else. Nevertheless, life is too short to waste time reading things that make you want to scream. I am very pleased to hear you like my writing, though. Thank you._

_I'd like to say this chapter may push the limits with a character that we don't really care about, but I felt it had it's place for developing some of Cuddy's emotions and creating some needed building blocks for the future, as well as providing a few details of the journey. _

_So, let's find House..._

_Disclaimer: Same disclaimer, different chapter. I am not connected with the show or Shore._

* * *

Chapter 2

"What a surprise!"

Cuddy flinched a bit at his hostile tone as he clearly mocked her. She hadn't seen Lucas since she'd broken up with him. She wouldn't have come to see him now if she weren't desperate.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside and dramatically throwing his arm back to direct her into his apartment. "Join the party."

"Cuddy?"

Wilson was shocked to see her.

"I believe you know Wilson," Lucas sneered.

She ignored him and focused on Wilson. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Except I asked you first."

"But I was here first," Wilson argued petulantly.

"What? Are we four?"

"You're both losers," Lucas interrupted bitterly. "Still following after House, cleaning up his messes, protecting him while he keeps shitting on you day in and day out. It's pathetic."

"He's in trouble, Lucas," Cuddy softly tried to justify and redirect.

"He's always in trouble."

"That's true," she agreed. "But this time he's sick."

"He crashed his car into your home, Lisa," he said. "He's not sick. He's psycho."

"Lucas, this is serious. He's…"

"Don't bother trying to reason with him," Wilson interrupted. "He's too bitter with jealousy to actually care about doing the right thing."

Lucas flinched. "The 'right' thing? As if any of you know right from wrong," he spat.

This was a bad idea, Cuddy thought. She'd known it, and yet she didn't know where else to go. They needed a private investigator. The police weren't going to be as aggressive now that they understood she wouldn't be pressing charges. They knew this concern for House's health would be the defense that would set him free of any remaining charges, so finding him was now low on the priority list. They wouldn't even treat it as a missing person until he was gone for 48 hours, and even then they may not take it serious. House's antics cast a lot of doubt on his character, so most everyone believed this was just another case of him being protected by his friends. To the authorities it looked like he was getting away with another crime and they had no patience for it. If she was going to find House, she needed help beyond police jurisdiction.

"Something's wrong, Cuddy," Wilson turned to face her, ignoring Lucas completely. "I know this is horrifying and we should be seeking a conviction, but this isn't right. Something is wrong with House and we need find him fast."

"I know," she said.

"He wouldn't do this. You know that." Wilson stammered.

Cuddy nodded in agreement. "He'll pull frat boy pranks, and lash out like a petulant child, but he's not a violent man."

"And yet there's a hole in your house that says otherwise," Lucas said.

"Proof that something is wrong," Cuddy immediately asserted, turning fiery eyes on him. "I know I hurt you. I know it isn't fair to ask you for help. In fact, it's screwed up! But you know House. You were once his friend. No matter what happened between us, if you are honest with yourself you know that this is not him. Something is wrong."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Wilson told Cuddy. "I've told him about the experimental drugs and the surgery, and his state of mind. I was there. I know what happened. I'm not just protecting him. This is crazy for even House."

"Yes, he has been telling me that," Lucas affirmed as he watched Cuddy intently.

"We don't have time for this," Wilson said. "Let's get out of here. We can find another PI."

"Do you regret it?" Lucas asked.

Cuddy looked at him, startled by his question, but understanding the need behind it. She'd left him so suddenly, and even though he'd known her feelings for House were deep and abiding, he'd believed she's chosen him. She'd believed it, too. Until she'd made a different choice. Until she'd chosen House. She hadn't given them time to digest the break-up or to heal. She'd been too anxious to see if it could work with the man she'd always wanted.

"No," she said softly, instantly realizing the truth behind it. She didn't regret choosing House over the comfort and stability she could have had with Lucas. In spite of all that had happened, all that House had done since the break-up, she couldn't regret giving them a chance. They were extraordinary together. At least they were when she wasn't making demands and trying to control their every moment. Her regrets were about her own failures and mistakes, never about choosing House. Ironically, she'd believed that someday they'd get another chance, a chance to find each other again, a chance to do it right. Or at least she had until yesterday... "I don't regret it."

Lucas closed his eyes and dropped his head in defeat.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," she whispered. "It wouldn't have been fair to marry you when I loved another man. I wish it were different. I wanted it to be different…"

"Has anyone checked the airports?"

Both Cuddy and Wilson startled at the sudden change in his expression as much as his question.

"Um…no," Wilson said. "Just his standard hang outs and some other bars around town."

"The police have an APB out on him, but I'm not sure what that covers."

"He's not in Princeton," Lucas said. "He took the first plane out to the destination as far away as possible."

Wilson shook his head in doubt. "I checked his apartment. He didn't pack anything. He didn't even go back there."

"And he wouldn't," Lucas agreed and stood to face them, hands on hips with his typical awkward arrogance. "You said House wanted to stop by Lisa's house to return the hairbrush. He'd come to some kind of realization after they'd talked and he seemed like he wanted to make peace and come to terms with everything. Then when he went to the door he saw something in the window and he became furious. That's when he told you to get out of the car and the whole debacle happened."

"That's right," Wilson agreed with his synopsis

"You said five of you filed reports about what had happened," he turned to Cuddy. "Which means you were having some kind of dinner party, and since he said House wouldn't hurt you or your family, your sister was at the party, which also means her husband was there. That leaves one other person, and I'm guessing that would be a date that Julia was pushing on you since she wouldn't want you continuing to pine away for House."

Cuddy frowned, but nodded at him. He had sorted through the clues in expert fashion. This kind of logic and reasoning was what had brought House and Lucas together in the first place; that and his quirky, creepy ways.

"Either House acted with a premeditated plan to hurt you, which I agree seems extreme for even him, or he was blinded by emotions that he didn't know what to do with and acted on impulse, which does sound a bit like House even if the actual act was out of character." Lucas turned away from them, sat down at his desk and began typing on his computer. "My guess is House saw the dinner party as a sign you'd moved on, something he couldn't do, and he snapped. He felt ashamed and humiliated and furious at himself for not being able to keep you and not being able to get over losing you. Crashing into your house was his way of destroying all hope of winning you back, of killing himself – metaphorically of course - and starting new. He severed all ties in one impulsive and insane act. That's why he was smiling when he walked away."

"You think this was some cathartic move?" Wilson sounded doubtful, and a little horrified.

"That's insane," Cuddy argued. "Violence does not provide catharsis. House would be merciless in mocking that kind of warped logic. Being violence & destructive only ensures more bitterness and pain."

"But in the moment of pure emotional release, it sure feels cathartic," Lucas argued. "Besides, he was trying something different this time. Wilson said House told him he knew something had to change." Lucas seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Wilson and Cuddy. "If he really did believe that, he would break all patterns, all ideas and anything that felt comfortable. And House would push it to the limits."

"You really think he's left Princeton?" Cuddy asked, coming to stand behind him. As much as she hated what she was hearing, there was logic behind his reasoning that couldn't be denied.

"Here," he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. "McKinley Morganfield left on Delta flight 486."

"McKinley Morganfield?" Wilson was skeptical.

"Muddy Waters?" Cuddy asked with a lifted brow. She recognized the name.

"Who died in 1983 and certainly was NOT the man on that flight," Lucas said smugly, handing her the paper. "Get your flight. I'll try to find out where he's staying and call you with the information."

Cuddy stared at him, stunned and grateful, and close to tears.

"Thank you, Lucas," she said, and hugged him. "You're a good man."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just not THE man."

They shared a lingering look of emotion that left Wilson feeling uncomfortable and out-of-place.

"We should go," Cuddy finally said.

"Yes," Lucas agreed. "If something is wrong with House like you seem to think, there's no telling what kind of mess he's getting into."

That's how she ended up on the island with Wilson. That's how they ended up moving from bar to bar following a trail of alcohol. That's how they began interviewing bartenders and bar patrons who painted a picture of a man who came to the island carefree only two days earlier, but who was not depressed and desolate. And that's how they came to find him sitting alone in the sand not far from the small hotel he'd checked into only a few hours earlier, far from the standard tourist strip, solemnly staring into the horizon.

House only briefly looked at them, seemingly not surprised to see them, before turning his gaze back to the ocean.

His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his hair and beard wiry and unkept. He looked tired and broken…lost.

"We need to get you to the hospital," she said, electing to get straight to the point.

"You mean the police station," he corrected in a raspy voice.

"You need an MRI," Wilson said.

House frowned and turned to look at them again. "I illegally parked my car in my ex-girlfriend's dining room," he said. "I don't need tests. I need to be flogged with my cane and hung by my balls."

"As tempting as that may be, there are better things to do with your balls," she replied sarcastically.

"If they involve your mouth or hands, I may flog myself for not destroying your life sooner."

"Something is wrong with you House," Wilson cut through their interchange.

"I think we've known that for quite some time!"

Cuddy sat down beside him in the sand and reached out to touch his arm. House stared at her hand as if it were one of his puzzles to solve.

"This is serious, House," she said softly, gently. "Something is wrong with you."

His crystal blue eyes searched hers for a silent, pressurized moment before she heard his husky whisper: "You think the tumors weren't just in my thigh."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks, Gang, for all of your wonderful notes and comments. You guys rock._

_Now, ready for more?_

_Disclaimer: Nothing has changed since Chapter 1._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"I think it is a possibility," she said. She wasn't surprised he so quickly guessed their theory. It was part of his brilliance, the way he so easily relied on deductive reasoning and psychology to identify symptoms and clues to determine the diagnoses most people wouldn't even imagine applicable. He also never dismissed subtle and controversial hypotheses, which meant he would at least consider the idea.

"You could have saved yourself a plane ticket," he scoffed. "I couldn't parallel park before I took the rat poison."

Of course he wouldn't make this easy, even if he did find the diagnosis plausible.

"House, the drug could have targeted soft tissue," she stated.

"I guess I should have put money in your meter," he ignored her.

"The CS-804 was supposed to regrow muscle but it caused neoplasia."

"But then how could I put my money in your meter after you gave me the boot?"

"The compound may work on the weakest part in the body," she continued to argue her theory. "In your case, the thigh and the prefrontal cortex."

"Get it?" House continued to ignore her. "The boot…wheel boot."

"House!" Wilson snapped at him, taking over when Cuddy stood and walked a few steps away in frustration. "This is serious."

"I know it's serious! Have you tried to remove a wheel boot?" He rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's impossible."

"You think this is funny?" Cuddy jerked around and stared at him with wild eyes. "You destroyed my home, House. You destroyed Rachel's home! She's a child! She needs stability! She needs to feel safe! And you just took it away from her! Do you really find that so amusing? Did it bring you the relief you were looking for?"

House looked away, unable to hold her angry glare, unable to look at her at all.

"Are you happy now?"

"Like you care if I'm happy," he muttered.

"My God!" she said, appalled at his attitude. "Have I been so completely wrong about you? Are you really so cruel?"

He did look at her then, his eyes distressed and a bit frightened even as he fought to appear detached.

She waited for him to say something…anything. He just turned away again to stare into the distance, the pulse in his jaw the only indication he even heard what she'd said, was bothered by it.

"Maybe I've been in love with a complete psychopath all these years," she pushed on. "Is that what you want me to believe House?"

She saw him flinch.

"You want me to doubt what we had was real? Is that part of your grand plan to break me?"

He expelled a deep breath and shook his head. She wasn't sure if it was to disagree or in an attempt to ignore her.

"I didn't want to break you," he finally whispered.

"What?"

"I didn't want to break you," he repeated, and finally turned to look at her. "I just wanted to stop hurting. I wanted to stop wanting you."

"And crashing your car into my dining room would accomplish that?" Her tone was incredulous. "In what universe?"

"You're the one who said I should let it out! You're the one who said I should allow myself to feel pain!"

"And you thought that was a free pass for domestic violence?"

"It wasn't domestic violence," he snapped, suddenly angry himself.

"Are you kidding?"

"There's no pattern of assault here! I've never hit you!"

"What about endangerment, trespassing, destruction of property, EMOTIONAL ABUSE?"

"It was an accident!" he yelled. "I couldn't take the pain anymore and I blew up. It was a one-time thing! You know it would never happen again?"

"Do I?" she asked. "Do I really know that? Because I never would have thought you'd do it this time."

House swallowed hard, unable to respond. She was right. He'd already figured that out. He'd already gone through all his reasons and excuses, tried to apply logic to the emotions he'd felt, but had come up empty handed. He'd already begun to face the horror of his own actions, and the consequences that would certainly follow. He already felt the shame and humiliation. Having her confront him only confirmed what he already knew.

"That's why you think there's a tumor?" he asked. "Aggression and a sudden inclination toward violence."

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "The tumors were in the tissue around the missing muscle in your thigh. Is it really so crazy to think they may be growing around the scar tissue from your brain injury?"

No, it wasn't. In fact, it would explain the lack of emotional control and total lack of judgment. He'd been attributing it to his inability to get over what had happened between the two of them, but perhaps there was something more going on. It would also explain the distraction, anxiety and impulsiveness that had begun to plague him. He'd thought it was depression, but the aggression was something new to him. It had overtaken him, frightened him. He could only imagine what it had done to her, how terrified she must have been…still may be. Yet here she was, his savior coming to rescue him yet again.

"You need an MRI, House," she said calmly. "We need to find out what's going on."

"Why are you here?"

"What?" She frowned, clearly puzzled by the question.

"You broke up with me. I've spent months to find even a glimpse that you still cared, that you missed me at all, and you've been nothing but an ice queen."

"I came to you when you called," she said defensively. "I stayed with you during the surgery."

"And then fell into another man's arms as soon as it looked like we might regain some kind of understanding!"

_Oh, God!_ Cuddy swallowed hard. Lucas had been right. He'd seen her having that dinner party and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Just because Julia tried to set me up does not mean I moved on," she responded more calmly than she felt.

"It looked like it to me."

Cuddy felt the bitterness rise inside her.

"You're upset I had someone over for dinner after you married that whore?"

House visibly cringed.

"Maybe we should stick to the issue at hand," Wilson quickly intervened before the conversation further deteriorated. "We need to get you to the hospital, House."

"The minute I land in Princeton the cops will arrest me," House said. "You know that."

"Which is why we need to do the MRI here on the island."

"That's actually a good idea," Cuddy agreed. "We should have the MRI results in hand when we go home if we expect to have a chance at delaying police action."

"We need to have his medical situation well established and outlined to have a defense at all."

House listened to them as they talked over options and made plans to pull strings here on the island to get him the MRI and additional tests they would need. They were in full rescue mode. How many times had they done this? How many times had they risked everything to defend him? Help him?

Cuddy had pulled out her cell phone and was making some calls. He couldn't believe she was here after what he'd done. Just like the night he'd called her when he'd cut into his own leg, she'd pushed all her hurt and anger aside to be there for him. He hadn't done that for her. He'd stayed away, had asked others to be there, had checked on her from a distance, but he'd not come to be with her when she needed him the most. Not until he'd taken drugs. Not until he was numb.

He watched her as she talked. She was wearing her control and power with that ease he found so sexy. It always amazed him how she could slip in and out of her roles like she did her Louboutins. She knew what hats to wear when, and she never missed a beat. Being his savior should never have been a role she took on, much less a hat that had become a more significant staple in her closet than a little black dress. It had become second nature to her: to put her emotions on hold so she could take care of him. It's no wonder she was always so tense and controlling when they were together. She was always on alert, always planning for disaster, always ready to step in and fix…him.

_Do you think I can fix myself?_

He'd asked her that, but had he really taken any steps to do it? No. Instead, he'd buried his head in the illusion that being with her solved everything. He'd been happy, so there was no need to pursue any real change.

_I love you. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it._

She shouldn't have been afraid to love him. She shouldn't have felt helpless. It made her need to control, to fix.

_I thought I could do this._

He'd been afraid she couldn't. He'd been afraid he'd fail her, that he'd hurt her too much and she'd run. He'd been right, and yet he couldn't help thinking they'd both sabotaged the relationship from the start.

"Okay," Cuddy said as she slipped the phone into her pocket. "We're all set. They will fit us in tomorrow morning."

"No," House said.

Cuddy and Wilson looked at him, startled.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Cuddy asked. "You can't sit on this, House. The neoplastic cells could still be growing even without the medication in your system. You can't ignore it and hope it goes away. You need to meet this head-on."

"I know," he agreed, and stood to face her. "I'm going to get the tests, but you're not going with me."

"What?" she asked, stunned and confused.

"I need to do this on my own. For once I need to save myself."

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you to all the faithful readers. This is quite a ride. I hope you enjoy it. Veronique deserves a special shout out. :-)  
_

_Disclaimer: Still not connected with show or Shore._

* * *

**Chapter 4**

House was feeling claustrophobic. It wasn't the MRI. It was him. His thoughts were pressing, his emotions closing in on him. He wished he could shut off his brain; he didn't want to think. Thinking made him hurt. He didn't want to hurt. That was the irony of his current predicament. He'd lost the woman he loved because he was "afraid" of pain. She believed he was unwilling to feel it, that he ran from it through sarcasm, drugs, and whatever else he came up with to distract himself. That was such bullshit!

When did he not feel pain? He dealt with leg pain all the time, and yes he was afraid of it getting worse. Anyone who'd ever experienced level ten pain would be afraid of that returning. But it wasn't just physical pain. It was so much more. It was his brain. He could never shut off his brain; he could never stop analyzing, processing, predicting… No amount of drugs or alcohol could numb the pain of his thoughts, his memories. He'd have to remove all ability to think and process not to feel pain.

"Try to be still, Doctor House."

House sighed. He wanted to get out of here. The rhythmic sound of the machine reminded him of the beat of the waves crashing on the shore as Cuddy had stared at him so stunned…so hurt.

"_You don't want me with you?" she asked._

_He hadn't expected it to hurt her. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what he'd done. He knew she was angry, frightened. He knew she was afraid of what he'd do next, and afraid of herself for coming to help him in spite of all logic and reason._

"_I always want you with me," he answered._

_He felt that familiar bubble of intimacy surround them, when everything disappeared and it was just them, just the chemistry, the longing. Now there was also nervous anxiety and fear._

_She bit her lip as she stared at him, a habit that once turned him on, but was now overshadowed by the sadness he saw in her eyes._

"_You shouldn't have come here." He looked away from her, staring at a spot over her shoulder. "You shouldn't have come for me that night."_

_He flinched when she touched his arm._

"_House," she'd whispered. "I don't regret…"_

"_I do."_

_She staggered back as if hit directly on a nerve. The tears poured down her face before she could even blink._

"_Maybe if we'd tried when I got back from Mayfield," he muttered. "I was at a good place. I was trying to rebuild…and I wanted you with me more than anything._

_But she was with Lucas. The words hung unspoken between them._

"_But I chose you," she reminded him._

"_You saved me," he corrected. "You chose me when my life had gone back to shit."_

"_House…"_

"_I tried to be good enough. I tried to be the kind of man you deserve, but nothing mattered."_

"_It did matter," she grabbed him by both arms and squeezed his biceps, insisting he look at her. "I came to you that night because I wanted us to have a chance, because I loved you."_

"_But you didn't want to."_

_Cuddy looked at him, confused.  
_

"_You wish you didn't love me." _

"We're all done," the voice over the speaker interrupted his thoughts.

The slab moved out from within the tube. He slowly sat up and turned to look at Wilson. He didn't have to ask what they'd seen.

"How bad?" he asked.

"There are two of them," he said.

House dropped his head. What had he done to himself?

Wilson came to stand in front of him. "They're going to upload the images into a secured page so we can login and look at them," he spoke with the calm, steady tone he used with his patients. "Why don't we go and get some lunch? We'll check them out and come up with a plan while we're there."

"You think a burger is going to make me feel better?"

"No," he said. "But I'm starving. And if I've got to put up with a jerk with brain tumors I need something on my stomach."

House grinned. Good ole Wilson!

"Here," Wilson handed him his clothes.

"Thanks," he said, and then added: "I'm glad you're here."

* * *

"She wants to be here too," Wilson said as he pushed the plate of fries toward House. They were at a bar not far from the hospital.

"She shouldn't."

"Why? Because you ran your car into her home?" he asked. "These tumors explain that a bit, don't you think?"

"They don't explain the other stuff," he mumbled and looked out the window, remembering her words.

"_You flaunted your parade of hookers at me," she said. "You treated them like they were some precious prize, like royalty. You were more romantic with them than you were with me!"_

"_I trusted you and you ripped my heart out!" he yelled. "I wanted you to hurt like you'd hurt me. I wanted you to feel the same shock and betrayal. I wanted you to feel like you didn't matter because that's how you made me feel…like I didn't matter. Like nothing I felt or did or said mattered."_

_Cuddy stared at him dumbly, visibly shaken by his outburst._

"_I was terrified I was going to lose you," his voice dropped to a softer level, but it was raspy with emotion. "Everyone kept telling me to pull it together, to find a way to be there. But I was falling apart. You needed me to be strong, but I was dying. I was dying Cuddy! I was dying right there with you!"_

"_You weren't with me," she reminded him._

"_I was," he spit out. "I found a way to be there. I took drugs."_

_Cuddy frowned. "Exactly. You took the drugs. You were too afraid to feel the pain."_

"_Bullshit!" he said. "You condemned me for doing what we do for patients and their families every day. We give them something to take the edge off so they can make it through the worst part. You expected me to be stronger than anyone else in this world. The most screwed up person you know, and a drug addict! You expected me to make it through that without any help. And alone!"_

_He bent down and picked up his cane before turning angry ice blue eyes to her. "Yes, I took drugs. But if you don't think I still felt pain, and fear…if you think I wasn't terrified of what was going to happen, then you are one self-absorbed bitch!"_

"You're right, you know," Wilson said.

House looked at him in puzzlement

"We did expect more of you than anyone else," he explained. "I expected more. I didn't give you even the basic consideration a doctor should give someone faced with that situation. I let you down, and I'm sorry."

He was sorry. House didn't know whether to laugh, cry or punch him. He was his best friend. He'd been there for him through his worst times. He'd also screwed up at some pretty significant moments. What he didn't do is leave.

"You're pathetic," House said.

"And you're an ass."

House played with the straw in his glass of coke.

"_I wanted you to see me!"_

"_I did see you," Cuddy said between sobs. "Every minute of every day. There was nothing that didn't remind me of you. I couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop missing you."_

_House was quiet as he watched her cry, her words and the memories reconciling in his mind._

"_You seemed so un-phased."_

"_Well one of us had to hold it together!"_

"_I didn't think…"_

"_No, you didn't," she bitterly interrupted him. "You were too busy pounding away at me, doing everything you could to hurt me. I saw you House. You were the one who didn't see me!"_

"She didn't leave you either," Wilson said, as if reading his thoughts. "She stopped dating you, but she didn't leave. She was there behind the scenes like always."

And she was. He could see that now. She'd been there supporting his medical choices, questioning them when needed, giving instructions on how to protect himself and the hospital, defending him to the board, monitoring his state of mind.

_You were too busy pounding away at me…_

He'd spent so much time hurting her. Then he'd called her for help. She could have ignored him. She could have let him rot. But she'd come when he'd called without delay.

She'd found him in a tub of his own blood that night. She'd given him a verbal ass-kicking, but she hadn't abandoned him. She'd stayed with him through surgery, and waited until he got out of recovery. She'd come to see him and given him Rachel's note. In spite of all he'd done for so many months, she'd fought for him, tried to get him to talk so they could work something out, so they could heal.

Wilson pulled out his wallet, tossed some cash onto the table and stood. "She never stopped loving you," he said. "That's why she came to find you."

"She should have given up on me."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh if it was that easy to get over the magnificence of Gregory House!" he said with dramatic flair before turning serious. "Don't screw this up, House. You both let it all out on that beach yesterday and she still wanted to stay. She still wanted to be here for you. It will take some work and some time, but you may actually get another chance with her."

"She'd be crazy to forgive me," House said as he stood and walked toward the restaurant door.

"Well, we are talking about Cuddy," Wilson said from behind.

Yes, this was Cuddy.

House suddenly felt a ting of hope…and fear.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for the reviews. I am very happy you are enjoying the story. There are some challenges ahead, but what a break-through. :-)  
_

_Disclaimer: You know the deal._

**Chapter 5**

"You're making a mistake."

"Of course I am," House said. "Letting the tumors grow would be a much better choice."

He had just come back from getting the navigational MRI and was now waiting in the pre-surgery area.

"House," Wilson sighed.

"Oh, you mean having Richardson do the surgery."

"I'm not talking about the tumors or the surgery and you know it," Wilson said. "What's more, you know I'm right but you don't want to admit it because seeing her means talking to her about things you don't want to think about."

"Is this the kind of pep talk you give your patients? Because it really sucks."

"My patients aren't so stupid as to go into brain surgery and risk dying without talking to the people they love."

"We've been over this," House groaned.

"Yes, I know. You need to do this alone," Wilson said. "You need to clean up your own mess, and solve your own problems without her rescuing you. I get that. But you could die on that table."

"I'm not going to die."

"You don't know that!" He was emphatic. "Chances are you'll be fine, but what if you're not? What if something does happen?"

"Then you'll be free of me," House responded lightly. "You can find the next Mrs. Wilson and live happily ever after-the-first-anniversary. At which point you'll cheat on her and get yet another divorce."

Wilson glared; House fought a grin.

"And Cuddy would be left with her final memories of you being a violent car crash, a mocking hair brush and a harsh rejection when she came to help you. Is that what you want?"

House looked away uncomfortably.

"You both said some pretty brutal things to each other," Wilson said. "Are you sure you want to chance leaving it that way?"

* * *

She was pacing again. She'd been pacing since she'd heard House had arrived at the hospital. Who was she kidding? She'd been pacing since Wilson had called her with the results of the tests.

"You were right," he'd said. She'd started pacing while he gave her the details.

Damn, House! Damn him for taking that experimental drug. Damn him for being so stupid. The animal testing hadn't even been completed, much less any human trials. What the hell was he thinking?

_He wasn't thinking. He was desperate. _

And then he operated on his own leg! Who does that?

_The same person who'd tried ketamine, heroine and methadone; the one who'd tried to get into a number of trials to stop the pain, to regain his quality of life._

Cuddy was furious and couldn't seem to shake it. She didn't even want to try. She didn't want to pretend anymore, didn't want to be strong and steady; she didn't want to work so hard to control what she was feeling.

She was angry! She was angry that he'd done this to himself, that he'd once again risked his life, and in turn, HER life. She was angry that his leg was still such a source of pain and defeat, angry he'd put them in a place to have to fight for him to get the surgery he needed. She was angry that she'd spent so much time at the courthouse working to postpone any legal action toward him and he didn't even care. Why? Because he didn't want her with him.

_He always wants you with him._

He was so infuriating. It was as if he didn't care at all that she'd come all that way to find him, to help him…and after what he'd done to her! It was all about him and his pain. As if she hadn't been hurting at all. As if he hadn't been making sure she hurt.

She was such an idiot. A masochist. He'd sent her away, told her to leave him alone, to let him take care of everything. But he didn't have time for that. He didn't have time to work his way through the system. He needed to take care of the tumors now. So, she'd ignored his request. She'd hired a lawyer. She'd printed the necessary MRI images, gathered the medical reports and prepared affidavits for the judge to review. She'd even provided testimony – as both the victim and a medical expert – to plead for a continuance, insisting House needed treatment immediately. She'd done it all before his plane had even landed. Why did she even bother? He didn't want to see her. He wasn't even grateful. She didn't know why she kept trying to help him.

_He doesn't want you to rescue him. He wants to take responsibility for his actions. He wants to do it on his own._

Cuddy wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something, or hit something. The anger was eating away at her.

Here she was dropping everything to come to save him when he hadn't been there for her. He hadn't been there for her!

"_Bullshit!" _She could hear his voice._ "You condemned me for doing what we do for patients and their families every day. We give them something to take the edge off so they can make it through the worst part. You expected me to be stronger than anyone else in this world. The most screwed up person you know, and a drug addict! You expected me to make it through alone."_

Cuddy stopped pacing. Yes, she was angry at him, at the situation, at life! But most of all she was angry at herself. There was a hurricane of confusing and volatile emotions ripping through her with a force she was helpless to block. She didn't know what to do with them; she didn't know how to stop them.

With a cry of defeat, she dropped to the sofa. The anger began to crumble as his words seemed to reverberate around her.

"_We started out with you saving me," he said. "And then you spent every day waiting for me to fail. EVERY DAY! I never had a chance."_

"_That's not true," she tried to argue._

"_You were always waiting for me to screw-up," he continued. "Which turned out to be a short wait since everything I did was wrong."_

He was right. It was time to stop lying and justifying. It was time to face the truth, to look at what had happened between them from a wide lens and not through a myopic filter of her fear, pain and anxiety.

"_You never believed I loved you," she said. "You never believed I was happy or that you deserved to be happy. You sabotaged us every chance you got."_

"_You were always testing me," he said. "And I always failed!"_

"_I wanted you to be with me, to really be with me and not pretend, not find excuses."_

"_You wanted me to be with you on your terms!"_

_Cuddy staggered backwards, feeling a bit dizzy from the emotions as much as his words._

"_You said you loved me, but made sure I knew BEING ME was the quickest way to lose you. You were in the seat of power, and you wielded it every chance you got," his voice was losing strength, his stance was less angry as his shoulders slumped. "I had to play by your rules, meet your expectations. You didn't even care that I wanted to give you everything, that I was willing to risk everything for you."_

"_I DID risk everything for you," she bit back. _

After months of holding it together, of being stoic and strong, of putting on a show of calm assurance, Cuddy finally broke. There in her office, while House was being prepped for brain surgery, she curled into a ball and wept.

She cried for the fears that had kept her from trusting him, from fully opening herself to a relationship with him…for the way she'd tried to control instead of giving him room to breathe and the safety to simply be. She cried for his fear of failure, for his sense of desperation that kept him wanting to "do better." She cried for his hopelessness and for her frustration. She cried for the inequity and the loneliness, for the panic and the pain. She cried because they'd had a chance at something great and they'd let it slip away.

"_You don't have to risk anything anymore," he finally said. "I don't want you to rescue me. I don't want you to save me. I don't want you to have that power over me ever again. I want to do this on my own. I need to do this…if for no other reason than to find myself again." _

He'd let it all out on that beach, all the hurt and anguish he'd been nurturing for months. He was an erupting volcano, releasing an initial explosion of fury followed by a steady flow of molten words. The air around them had become poisonous until all the pressure was released and there was nothing left but the hollow, empty fissure between them.

"_You were it for me," he looked at her with red rimmed eyes. "You were my last chance, my only hope at finding happiness."_

He didn't seem to realize she felt the same way. House still didn't understand he was the love of her life. She'd never love anyone again the way she'd loved him…the way she loved him.

"_I may spend the rest of my life alone and miserable but it will be on my terms," he said. "I'll live my life as I am and not as the man formally known as House."_

The words made her tremble as she thought about what he was facing.

House was having brain surgery…with all the dangers and risks.

Without conscious thought or any real plan, Cuddy found herself walking through the halls of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital toward the surgery wing.

"_I don't regret being with you, House. I'm glad we tried."_

"_That makes one of us," he said. _

Those words were haunting her, had wounded her deeper than…

Cuddy jumped as her phone chirped, signifying an incoming text.

"Now accepting visitors. Weapons should be checked at the door."


	6. Chapter 6

_And the healing journey begins... Hope you enjoy. Thanks to all of the readers who have shown such enthusiasm. I appreciate your comments and reviews!_

_Disclaimer: Not connected with show or Shore._**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

House had barely put his phone down when the door swung open.

_Cuddy._

They stared at each other with the familiarity of old lovers and the awkwardness of strangers. She was shy; he was nervous. Neither of them knew what to say or do. And yet as they faced each other in the silence a sense of repose seemed to engulf them.

"Weapons?" she finally said.

"You arrived too fast," he shrugged. "I didn't have time to get to the door so I could frisk you."

She smirked and stepped further into the room to stand beside the bed.

"I was waiting outside," she explained. "I wanted to be here when they shaved your head."

"It won't be as exciting as you hoped. I already used the sharpie to write 'not this head' on Little Greg," he said as he moved to sit at the side of the bed, his bare legs hanging off the side. "It all fit, by the way. Imagine how much I could write with an erection."

"There are better things to do with an erection," she quipped.

"Really? Want to show me?" he waggled his brows.

Cuddy stared at him, enjoying their playful banter and teasing. It had been a long time since they'd been this relaxed and easy with each other. She'd missed it; she'd missed him.

House watched as her eyes searched his before sliding down his nose and across his lips, along every line of his face as if memorizing his features. He noticed her expression grew soft and sad; he held his breath when he thought he detected a hint of longing beneath the surface. He didn't dare believe she could have such tenderness toward him, but as her hand moved to his jaw he dared to hope.

He went completely still as her fingers moved lightly along his jaw. Cuddy felt the familiar flutter in her stomach, the tremor down her spine as he leaned into her hand, his eyes closing at the sheer rapture of her touch. She felt intoxicated, dizzy from his nearness and the raw vulnerability she felt. He was enveloped by her scent and he breathed deep, absorbing her essence as his senses became alert and alive.

Cuddy gasped when his eyes suddenly opened and his gaze locked on hers. It was alive and palpable, this intense, overwhelming attraction that drew them inexplicably together. It was always there between them; nothing could sever the connection. It had become a part of them, a part of their individual identities as much as a fundamental aspect of their relationship. They couldn't escape it and trying to deny it was destroying them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His hand cupped hers, pressing it firmly against his cheek as their fingers entwined. "I'm sorry I screwed it up for us."

The tears began to pool in her eyes as she searched for the right thing to say, the right thing to do.

"You weren't the only one who screwed up," she said.

"But I have a special talent for it," he reminded her. "I have the tumors to prove it."

Cuddy moved forward, stepping between his legs and cupping his jaw with both hands now. "Don't you dare die on me," she said, her voice heavy with barely concealed emotion. "I don't know if we can get past all of this. I don't know if we can ever repair what we've done. But I do know I can't take the thought of you not being in my life. I don't know what I'd do if…"

House pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. She welcomed his touch, was open to his touch as she hugged him close.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"Neither should you."

"Dr. House," the man's voice boomed as he stepped through the door. It was Dr. Hall, the anesthesiologist. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw them. "Oops, sorry to interrupt."

Cuddy stepped away from House. "It's okay," she mumbled, but her chest grew tight. There was so much they needed to talk about, so much she wanted to say. What if they never had a chance? What if this was it?

"I'm going to need to ask you a few questions while Nurse Donna works on giving you a new hairstyle." Cuddy watched as the nurse stepped around Dr. Hall and placed supplies on the rolling table beside the bed.

There was a sudden flurry of activity as nurses and technicians came into the room preparing House for surgery and Dr. Hall interviewed House about medications and medical history.

Cuddy stepped out of the way, moving toward the far end of the room. She watched them work, aware of their every move, anticipating each turn. As a doctor, she could explain the process from every angle and perspective. How many interns had she trained? How many nurses had she supervised? She tried to focus on the details like she did when she was training.

She couldn't. Instead, she felt her back pressed up against the tile of the wall and realized she'd backed into it, leaning on it for support. Closing her eyes against the tears that threatened, Cuddy had to acknowledge the truth. She wasn't there as a doctor; she wasn't in the right mindset. She was anxious and afraid, full of regrets and unspoken desires, beaten by a bitterness and anger she couldn't deny, but couldn't accept either. At that moment, she was only a woman. And she was not ready to say goodbye to this man.

He was watching her. Through the structured chaos and her own emotional haze, Cuddy could feel his eyes boring into her, searching and exploring, imploring her to return his gaze. She looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was as if she drifted away, transported into a quiet nebula of intense heat and yearning. She could feel him surrounding her, his energy shrouding her in a restless comfort. It was part of his complexity, the dichotomies that didn't just coexist within him, but somehow coalesced. It was part of their magic, the synthesis of their separate brokenness that created such uncommon beauty. When they stopped fighting it and fearing it, when they stopped denying it existed, this connection they shared could form a unity that set them apart from the world, locking them in a protective bubble nothing could disrupt.

House could feel her fear, could see the fragility she fought to hide. He instinctively knew she was being sucked into a black hole of tangled emotions and he sought to catch her, to send her the lifeline they once found in each other. He'd thought it was severed. For months he'd been lost in that vortex knowing with all certainty he'd lost an integral part of him. In minutes, everything had changed.

"_I don't know if we can get past all of this. I don't know if we can ever repair what we've done. But I do know I can't take the thought of you not being in my life."_

As she'd said those words and wrapped him in her arms, he'd felt himself pulled from the darkness by the fingers of hope. She may not know if they could move beyond the past, if they could change and adapt, but she wanted to. Whether she realized it or not, she wanted to rebuild their relationship. That was a start. That was enough. Right now, that was everything.

"I need a minute," House said as they prepared to wheel him out of the room.

Nurse Donna looked at him then Cuddy before nodding to the other nurse. "Make it quick," she said, patting him on the shoulder. House caught her wink as she walked out the door and felt strangely encouraged.

"Come here," he said.

Cuddy didn't hesitate to take the hand he extended to her. She cupped it in both hers, holding it to her chest as she leaned toward him.

"Don't distract me with your cleavage," he groaned.

"I'd flash a nipple if it would help you fight this," she said.

"Oh, it would! It would!" House grinned when she chuckled and smiled at him tenderly.

Everything around them was in slow motion, a blurred and filtered backdrop. The focus was on them. It was just the two of them, open and aware, whole in a broken moment. This was the memory he wanted to capture; this was the feeling he cherished.

"I'm glad you're here," he told her.

"There's nowhere else I'd be."

It was true. She was exactly where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. With all the conflicted emotions surrounding him and their relationship, she had no doubt this was where she should be.

House heard the flurry of movement around them and knew they were running out of time.

"You gonna kiss me?"

"That would be confusing," she said, but he caught the way her eyes moved to his lips.

"Yeah, I guess it would be."

The staff was crowding them, moving the IV pole and lowering the bed for transport. Their eyes remained locked as Cuddy leaned down to him.

"I love you," he whispered.

And her lips touched his.


	7. Chapter 7

_This may feel like a bit of a filler chapter, but I think by the end you'll see there's some important stuff going on here. Hope you enjoy. Thank you for your wonderful reviews and continued interest. Special Thanks go out to Mon Fogel and Piena: your notes meant so much to me. :-)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own House (though I wish I did) and I'm certainly not involved with Shore._

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The first time House woke she was holding his hand. She had fallen asleep in the chair beside the bed and her head had dropped to his side, pushing against his abdomen. He'd barely processed it before he lost consciousness.

The second time, Richardson & Foreman were hovering over him, checking his reflexes and neurological responses. He'd seen her standing at the foot of the bed beside Wilson, nervously biting her lip.

The third time he'd found her curled in the hospital recliner near the window. It was dark outside; she hadn't gone home. He'd watched her sleep, considered the importance of what it meant for her to remain vigil by his bed. He wondered what she was thinking and feeling, tried to anticipate what would happen next between then. He felt confused and humbled…and afraid.

The physical therapist, a burly woman named Jody with a Minnesota accent and a devious laugh, woke him up this time. She didn't waste time letting him slowly come out of his dream-filled slumber; she jerked the sheets off him, ignored his partial erection and began to help him shift his body to the side of the bed to sit up. His speech was slow; otherwise he'd have ripped her apart and made sure Cuddy knew the hospital personnel were insensitive jerks. Instead, he soberly followed her directions as she instructed him in leg lift exercises then guided him in safely sitting and standing, her hands keeping a firm grasp on the gait belt she'd wrapped around his waist as he leaned on a walker.

"Doin' good, Dr. House," she encouraged as he took a few steps around the room. It was important for him to be up and moving as soon as possible after the surgery.

"Bitch," he sneered with a bit of a stutter.

She laughed. "Good to see you didn't lose any of that charm."

He glared at her.

Cuddy chuckled from the doorway, and House turned quickly to look at her.

"Careful," Jody said when he staggered a bit. "Let's sit you in the recliner for a while."

"Walk," House argued. He wanted to keep moving; he wanted to accelerate the recovery process, not lounge around watching the cooking channel. He wanted to show Cuddy he was strong and would recover.

"You don't want to push yourself," Jody said.

"Don't kid yourself," Cuddy said as she stepped into the room. "He knows his gown is open in the back and wants to take the opportunity to moon everyone who annoys him."

"M-M-Mainly you," he stammered and turned to Jody. "She l-loves m-my ass."

Jody was grinning at their exchange, enjoying the sparring that was legendary within the walls of the hospital.

"A lot of people think you need a real spanking, Dr. House," Jody said. "It doesn't mean they like your ass."

Cuddy grinned. It was apparent the staff was going to take advantage of his slow response time over the next few days. That didn't concern her. He was tough enough to deal with it, and may even find the repartee invigorating enough to keep his spirits up. The recovery period was always the most difficult, both physically and emotionally.

"D-doesn't ex-explain you s-star-ing at my cr-crotch," he said as the therapist removed the gait belt. He sat down in the recliner as instructed, but his scowl made it clear he wasn't happy about it.

"That was your crotch?" Jody quipped, and tapped his shoulder in sympathy. "Maybe next time you're under the knife you can ask for an implant."

Cuddy burst out laughing and House glared at them.

"The speech therapist will be in shortly to evaluate you," Jody said in a more professional manner. "In the meantime I'd like you to sit up for a while. It's better for you than lying in the bed all day."

"Th-there's some-th-ing else bet-ter for me," he answered.

"Tell it to someone who cares," she quipped, grinning at Cuddy as she walked toward the door. "I'll see you later Dr. House."

Cuddy chuckled.

"She w-will p-pay for th-is," House grumbled.

"Ah, she's just having fun," Cuddy said. "How are you feeling?"

She leaned against the window sill beside the recliner where he sat. She was wearing a black skirt and as she crossed her ankles it rode up a bit higher on her thighs.

House stared at her legs. They really were the perfect legs, long for her height, smooth and shapely. He remembered how they felt wrapped around him.

"House?" she said, waving her hand in front of him to get his attention then repeating. "How are you feeling?"

"Horny." Of course he didn't stutter or stammer over this word.

"Your libido trumps brain tumors any day."

"It's-s you," he said, and she tilted her head slightly as she stared at him. "You are b-beaut-i-ful."

She didn't know if it was the surgery or the drugs affecting him, but he appeared to be quite honest and sincere in his compliment, completely unguarded. It made her a bit nervous and, she begrudgingly admitted to herself, excited.

"Thank you," she responded. "You look pretty good yourself."

"I'll wear the gown o-pen in the fro-nt nex-t time. You can see how go-od I rea-lly am."

"I know how good you are," she whispered without thinking to censor her words.

They stared at each other, the silence filled with unspoken words and concealed emotions that were somehow deciphered and revealed in their eyes. Somewhere during the last few days, the burden of anger and bitterness had abated and a delicate balance had been discovered. They stood at the threshold of something new and undefined that left them feeling anxious but less apprehensive than either would have imagined.

"Y-you stay-ed with me." He wasn't asking. It was more a statement of warmth and awe.

"Yes," she said.

She didn't explain or justify; she didn't make light of it. She let the answer hang in the air with its true weight of significance. It was at that moment House understood his greatest hope was being realized. Not now, not this week, and maybe not even this month, but it was going to happen. Cuddy was going to give him another chance.

* * *

House was sitting on the edge of the bed as Dr. Richardson finished his examination.

"Everything looks good," he said. "The swelling is down, the images are beautiful, your swallowing and communication issues have completely cleared, your reflexes are normal…"

"Skip the bedside pep-talk," House interrupted. "I don't need it."

"You're back to being an ass," Richardson noted. "Cognition is on the mend. I think we can release you to the rehab today."

"Rehab?"

They both turned as Cuddy entered.

"Yes," Richardson answered, oblivious to the nervous eyes House turned on her. "We've already received the approvals. I'll just send over the orders and we'll set-up the transfer for this afternoon."

Cuddy stared at House, surprised and confused. She'd been visiting him all week; he'd never mentioned going to a rehab facility. There was nothing to suggest he'd need more acute care than the home therapists.

"Any questions for me?"

House shook his head to signify no, but his eyes were on Cuddy.

"Okay," Richardson said. "Sit tight and we'll have you out of here shortly."

As the doctor left, Cuddy came to stand in front of House.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, obviously concerned.

House sighed. He'd been dreading this conversation as much as he'd been preparing for it. They'd fallen into an easy rapport over the past week. She'd started visiting him when she first arrived to work in the morning and before she left at night, their conversations light and teasing, often generalized, therapy oriented or surrounding office gossip. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement to shelf any deeper conversations until he'd recovered, and a conscious decision to just enjoy each other, something they'd lost during their relationship and desperately wanted to find again.

"I'll need to start getting off the pain meds soon," he said, as if that explained everything.

It did.

"You're going to wean off them for a complete detox?"

He nodded.

"That's great, House," she said, and squeezed his arm as a signal of support.

He looked down at her hand. Her touch had always been a symbol of their invisible bond. She touched him when no one else dared to even cross into his personal space.

House stretched his hand over to the side table to retrieve a piece of paper. "I'm going to take all of my sick leave and possibly some of my vacation days," he said, handing her the form.

She frowned as she looked down at the required paperwork for her to approve. "Is it the cognitive and occupational therapy you think will take so long?" she asked. "You think the detox and reintegration will be a problem?"

"It's more than that," he said softly.

Cuddy was struck by his tone and his overall calm demeanor.

"I need to fix myself," he said. "It's time."

She stared at him.

"You can't do that at home? As an outpatient?"

"I can't do that near you."

Cuddy stepped back as if she'd been slapped. House instantly responded, unwilling to let her put distance between them.

"I love you," he said, grabbing her waist and pulling her toward him.

Her eyes met his, their depths clouded with surprise and hurt. She remembered when she'd almost begged him to say those words. Throughout their relationship she'd secretly hungered for them, even as he openly told her he "needed" her or "wanted" her. They seemed to easily flow out of him now, and this time she couldn't assume it was drugs or the emotions resulting from a pending surgery.

"I feel better when I'm with you," he admitted. "That distracts me."

Cuddy closed her eyes against the memories flooding through her. "I make you a worse doctor," she whispered.

"No."

"Yes," she said, and her eyes opened to pierce his. "You told me that."

"I was drunk."

"You believed it," she said. "You were willing to accept it, to sacrifice lives and everything you believe to be with me. It was the truth! I'm not good for you. I make you a worse doctor. I make you a worse man."

He took her by the arms and lightly shook her.

"You can't make me anything," he desperately tried to make her see. "You know that. You've been nagging me about it for years. I'm an addict, I have mommy and daddy issues, I'm completely screwed up. I'm the only one who can fix me."

House saw the tears welling up in her eyes and felt his chest constrict. When would he ever stop hurting her?

"Cuddy," he spoke her name on a sigh as he pushed her hair away from her face and gently caressed her cheek. "You were wrong. We don't make each other better. We make each other WANT to be better."

House lowered his eyes and grinned mischievously. "You make me want to be a better man," he said in a very bad Jack Nicholson imitation. They'd watched _As Good As It Gets_ one too many times.

Cuddy couldn't laugh. She was upset: mostly at herself. He was right, of course. This was his journey, his fight. It always had been. And yet, she'd always wanted to be there with him, beside him, fighting the demons and dragons together. That had been a large part of their problem. She had been frantically fighting his demons, while he was still hiding from them. And she'd ignored her own. She couldn't pretend anymore. She couldn't keep lying to herself, placing fault and blame in a futile attempt to deny her own responsibility. She had contributed to their failure as much as he had.

"Talk to me," he softly pleaded.

Cuddy stepped forward and leaned her head against his chest. He was so open, so vulnerable. His guard was completely lowered and he was earnestly reaching out to her from the rawest part of his soul. She trembled as she finally accepted a switch had been flipped in House and a great deal of change had already occurred. Perhaps the hardest part was, indeed, simply making the decision.

"I wanted us to work through it together," she pouted and nuzzled her head deeper into his chest, embarrassed.

"A noble, but naïve idea," he said. She tilted her head up to glower at him.

He kissed her. It was just a quick and light brushing of her lips, but it rocked her.

"I have to be able to fight," he said, staring at her mouth. "I need to find my own weapons."

He kissed her again, a second longer this time. "If I don't do this, you'll always have the power," he said as he moved his lips along her cheek and jaw, his scruff tantalizing her skin. "You'll always have control…need to control."

His hands slipped around her waist and slowly, almost unconsciously pulled her against him. "We need the scales balanced," he breathed against her lips.

Cuddy whimpered and threw her arms around his neck, her lips joining his in an open, devouring kiss. She leaned fully into his embrace, her breasts firm against his chest, her hips nestled tightly between his thighs.

House groaned and his hands cupped her rear, lifting and pulling her against him. His lips made a moist track along her cheek and jaw then down her neck. He tongued the pulse at her neck and she felt desire explode within her. She wanted him, she needed him…she loved him.

"We can do this right, Cuddy," he said, his voice muffled at her neck. "This time we can do it right."

She felt his hands slide beneath the fabric of her blouse and his fingers glide along the bare skin of her back. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to taste him, touch him. She felt herself drifting into a passionate haze, acutely aware of her need for him, her desire for him. As his mouth moved down her chest, she felt the scruff of his jaw at her cleavage and gasped for breath and her hands clutched his shirt. God, she wanted him. It would be so easy to forget the past, to forget the pain they'd caused each other, the horror of the past few months. It would be so easy to take the moment and ignore…

Cuddy jerked away from him, pushing against his chest as she stepped backward, putting distance between them. She was breathing hard, her lips swollen and wet, her eyes dilated with passion. They were also wide and frantic as she pulled herself up taller, visibly trying to regain her composure.

"We can't do this," she said.

"We can."

He stood cautiously, not wanting to push her too hard, but needing to be near her. "We can do this, Cuddy," he said. "We can make it work this time. Just give me another chance. Give US another chance."

"No," she shook her head, vehemently.

He stared at her, mouth agape and shocked. The weight in his chest was suffocating and the bile that rose in his throat was nauseating. He couldn't have been wrong. He'd felt the connection, the forgiveness. All this week he'd felt them drawing closer. He couldn't be wrong. He couldn't.

"It's not just drugs and mommy and daddy issues that stand in our way, House."

She pushed her hair away from her face and stared at him defiantly. "It's your wife."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks again for all of the reviews. It's thrilling to hear how people are responding to this story._

_You know this couple wouldn't address their issues immediately right? It's never so easy for them to be open and honest. One break-through does not a conversation make... Hang in there. This is going somewhere. I'm giving you two chapters today just to prove it. :-)_

_This chapter includes a special request from Jessica. Enjoy, girl._

_Disclaimer: I do not claim a connection to House or David Shore._

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"What are you doing here?"

House looked at Wilson with an expression of dramatic shock. "It's the most important fundraiser of the year," he said. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Because you never come to hospital events, unless there's poker involved or you're blackmailed into it," Wilson replied dryly. "Or you want to play games with Cuddy, none of those apply."

"You're sure?"

Wilson crossed his arms over his chest and glared at House. "You two have been very careful to nurture this non-aggression treaty you've ever so carefully constructed," he answered. "You've even managed to return to a certain camaraderie of the past... as long as you avoid each other, which isn't easy since you both are pining away and covertly checking up on each other. Through me, I might add."

House rolled his eyes. "You're point, Mr. Churchill?"

"There's no way you'd risk setting your relationship back by doing something stupid."

He was right, of course, but House chose to ignore him as his eyes scanned the crowd in search of Cuddy. He'd been back to work over a week. After 5 weeks in the rehab, he'd contacted her regarding the date he would return. She'd kept it nice and professional, inquiring on his health and well-being but avoiding any further personal questions or comments. He'd followed her lead. How could he not?

He'd spent a lot of time thinking about what she'd said the day he was released from the hospital.

"_It's not just drugs and mommy and daddy issues that stand in our way, House. It's your wife."_

Her words had kicked him in the gonads. He'd known at that point of all the things he'd done since their break-up, that one had cut her the deepest. It was the thing she couldn't, or wouldn't, explain or justify through her innate understanding of him. And there was no way he could spin it – though he knew he could try – to soothe the pain or lessen the long-term impact. It was ironic, really. At the time, he'd wanted her to know his motives and intent, to fully understand the message behind his actions. On some level he'd known it was more than just a way of hurting her but one of his legendary self-destructive moves. He'd ignored logic and sense, electing to feed on his hurt. He'd gotten caught up in wanting her to feel the same pain he was feeling; she'd barely seemed to react. She'd remained controlled and aloof; stoic, except for that brief moment at the ceremony. He'd been so desperate at the time he hadn't considered the consequences. Over the past few weeks, he'd thought about it a lot.

House moved the paper he'd been clutching in his hand to the inside jacket pocket as his chest.

"What are you up to House?" Wilson asked, warily.

"Cuddy lost her dance partner," House said in all seriousness.

The theme of the fundraiser was Dancing with Doctors, a ballroom dance competition where bids were placed for who would be the winning couple. The auditorium on the hospital campus had been cleared, a temporary wood flooring had been installed in the center of the room surrounded by small cafe tables and a bar had been set-up in the back. Cuddy had been on the list to compete, her dance partner one of the men she'd met years ago on . They'd remained friends over the years and when she'd asked him to join her for the fundraiser, he was anxious to help. They'd been practicing for weeks, but he'd been in a car accident just this morning that had broken his leg.

"You heard about that?" Wilson asked, not really surprised House was up on Cuddy's activities, but interested as to why this had intrigued him enough to attend the event.

"Yep," he said, but didn't go into it any further. Instead, he'd caught sight of Cuddy near the edge of the dance floor and with focused moves, weaved his way through the crowd toward her.

"This won't turn out well," Wilson muttered and headed for the bar. He had a feeling he was going to need a drink.

* * *

"You're up next, Dr. Cuddy," the stage hand directed.

"What?" she looked at him puzzled. "No, my dance was cancelled."

"It was put back on the schedule," the boy responded, frowning at her in sudden panic. "Was that wrong?"

"No, that's correct."

Cuddy swirled around at the sound of his voice.

"House!"

He was standing in front of her in a tuxedo looking strikingly sexy.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to dance with you," he answered simply, a devious grin on his face.

"Great," the boy said, ignoring Cuddy's shock. He began speaking into the microphone of his headset. "Floor, we're a go. Dr. Cuddy's partner has arrived."

"We can't go out there!" she said through clenched teeth. "You don't know the dance!"

"The tango," he said.

_Of course he'd know the dance._

"You don't know the routine!"

"We'll improvise," he said, his eyes roving down her body in a slow, measured move. She was wearing an alluring silver and red cocktail dress with a low V neckline revealing a generous amount of cleavage. The shimmering sequins blanketed the bodice with a geometrical design that slowly faded into sprinkling along a sheer champagne fabric. House could pull his eyes away from the slit that came to mid-thigh, revealing a generous amount of leg. "My God you're sexy."

"Thank you," she muttered, flustered by the heat of his gaze and her immediate physical response. "Don't be ridiculous!" she finally hissed. "We'll look like idiots. We can't just go out there and perform."

"Sure we can," he said and turned her around to face the dance floor. "You lost your dance partner and I'm the perfect guy to fill in for him. We perform all the time."

He placed his hand on the curve of her back, his fingers gliding along the exposed bare skin, and he leaned toward her ear. "We've been dancing around each other for years," he said. "It's about time we tried dancing WITH each other."

"There's more to it than that, House," she argued, but he was dragging her out onto the dance floor.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you," he said, turning to take her in his arms.

He held out hands in a proper position and waited for her to step into the dance frame. She stood completely still, staring at him with uncertainty, fear and a bit of excitement.

"You don't have to control this, Cuddy," he said, the implication heavy in his voice. "You just have to open yourself up to trust me and follow my lead."

There was a second of uncertainty before she stepped forward, placing her right hand in his left and placing her left hand on his right shoulder. He quirked a brow at her then snapped his head toward their outstretched arms in the characteristic staccato movement. Cuddy averted her head, tilting her chin up and over her shoulder away from him as she assumed the starting position.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine here at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital," a voice announced over the speaker. "And her partner Dr. Gregory House."

A murmur of shock and activity could be heard in the crowd as the lights dimmed.

"Don't worry Cuddy," he whispered. "If you can spell it, you can dance it."

Cuddy frowned. That was a common phrase in tango classes. How would he know that?

House waited for the first five beats before stepping out with his left foot, heal first then toe. His right hand gently urged her forward, and she mirrored his step, maintaining his perfect rhythm as his right foot followed.

_T (Left forward) A (Right forward)– N (Left forward and half turn clockwise) – G (Right ) O (Left) Snap…_ He led her in the basic promenade and she easily followed.

When they reached the center of the floor, he moved into a single axis turn and held his pose for her boleo. She looked at him, surprised and excited by his skill. He looked back at her with an intense stare as he moved her into a closed embrace and tilted her off her axis before catching her again to recover the step with a snap of his head and upper body. He easily set up each encounter move to adjust his balance and transfer the weight from his thigh; she automatically responded with intricate foot moves around his legs.

She seemed to anticipate his moves as he improvised each step, pushing forward then pulling back, catching her gaze and turning away. He was almost graceful as he moved with the stealth of a panther, strategically using the timed pauses to rest his weak leg. She felt his body provoking and commanding and she shamelessly responded with promiscuous twisting and turns in front of him, her hands sliding along his body, her leg wrapping around his.

The tension built between them and just as quickly released. His body spoke of angry intent, hers of resourceful submission. She turned on him with searching intrigue; he with a cautious release. With every surprise move he turned on her, she responded with an equally passionate counter. They were eager and obsessed, their passion a steady crescendo. It was raw and sexual. Cuddy hadn't felt so aroused in a very long time.

By the time House settled her into a final dip, House was tingling with desire. Cuddy looked up at him as he held her, thrilled by the intensity of his dilated stare and the feral way he breathed her in. He wanted her. At this moment she wanted him with equal fervor.

The applause brought them out of their daze and House pulled her up to take a bow. He stepped to the side, out of the circle of the spotlight, leaving her to take the applause as the moderator began to speak. She wasn't listening, she couldn't; she was lost in the sensations pulsing through her veins and the look in his eyes.

As the dance floor filled with couples for an open dance that provided a break between competitive performances, Cuddy moved close to House again, searching his face.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"The dance studio near the hospital," he said, grinning at her. "Remember those bowling league nights while we were dating? I was actually taking dance lessons."

Cuddy stared at him, confused then shocked. "You took dance lessons?"

He nodded, obviously pleased with himself. "I was going to surprise you," he said with a shrug. "I never got the chance…until now."

Her eyes scanned his, searching, analyzing, interpreting. He waited for her pleased smile.

She grimaced and he noticed her eyes filled with water as she turned away from him. He stood stunned and frozen. It was like déjà vu as he watched her push through the crowd toward the exit, running away from him and taking his hopes with her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Don't hate me for this cliff hanger... :-)_

_Disclaimer: Not connected to House or Shore_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

She was in her office when he found her.

He'd considered not following her, letting her leave without any explanation or understanding between them. That hadn't worked out well the last time. It had only delayed the inevitable and left him discovering Lucas' role in her life in a most humiliating way. Too much had happened between them to continue burying his head in the sand, pretending and deflecting. If he was serious about trying to change, sincere in the steps he was making to repair the damage he'd done, he needed to go after her. He needed to talk to her.

Cuddy was staring out the window. The office was dark, the security lights from the clinic and the glow of the moon from outside providing the only illumination.

She didn't turn around when he entered but she knew he was there; he saw the slight stiffening along her spine at the sound of the door closing. He came to stand beside her, quiet and uncertain. It was unsettling how completely confused he felt.

"I thought I had it all figured out," she said, her voice shaky and distant. "I understood you were lashing out, that it was all about revenge."

Cuddy turned her head slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. He could see the tracks of tears marking her cheeks and felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach.

"But it was more than that, wasn't it?" she asked and faced him fully. Her arms crossed in front of her in unconscious protection.

House frowned, his brow becoming furrowed.

"You wanted to marry me," Cuddy said. "You'd been thinking about it and planning it. That's why you took those dance lessons; that's why you married her….to send me the message."

His expression was set, impassive, but she caught the slight widening of his eyes.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

A veil was slipping over his eyes as his jaw tightened and twitched.

"Tell me I'm wrong, House," she insisted.

He looked away from her and released the breath he'd been holding. This wasn't going the way he anticipated, the way he wanted.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, looking at her again. "It's in the past. We need to deal with what's happening now."

Her eyes closed and her head fell back on a sigh. "It's not the past," she said in frustration. "It's with us now, in everything we do and say, or don't say. Can't you see that?"

"Let it go, Cuddy?" he demanded with matching frustration. "I know you want to. I know you want to try again. It's why you stayed with me in the hospital. It's why you've been…"

"We can't just pretend it didn't happen," she interrupted.

"No, but it doesn't have to prevent us from moving forward."

"We can't move forward!"

"We can," he insisted, stepping toward her and into her space. "I know you still love me, Cuddy. I know you want to be with me. Stop thinking about what other people think and expect! This is about us. It's between us."

"And her!" she insisted, determined and fiery-eyed. "You made it about her when you married her."

"She doesn't mean anything."

"Then tell me why you married her," she said.

"Cuddy…"

"Tell me why you married her, House."

"To hurt you!" he snapped. "I married her to hurt you."

Cuddy flinched but didn't back away. She stood her ground, glaring at him, waiting for him to go on.

He sighed and looked away, rubbing his forehead as he remembered that week, as he searched for the right words to say to her.

"You already know the answer, Cuddy," he finally said.

She stared at him, waiting for him to go on.

"You just said it," he sighed. "I was lashing out. I wanted you to experience the pain I was feeling. You know how I am."

She waited.

"What do you want me to say? It doesn't matter. It doesn't affect where we're at right now. It doesn't change how we feel."

Cuddy turned away from him then, taking the few steps to her desk before leaning against it heavily for balance and support.

"You need to leave," she said. He panicked.

"What do you want me to say?" he snapped.

"Just go."

"Nothing happened between us," he said. "The whole marriage is a sham. She doesn't mean anything to me."

She jerked around to glare at him. "And yet you married her!"

"Because I couldn't marry you!" he yelled.

Cuddy paled, and staggered back against the desk.

"Is that what you want to hear," he demanded. "Yes, I wanted to marry you. I knew we were screwed up. I knew we had problems, but I believed in us. I believed in you!"

The tears were rolling down her face as she stared at him in shock and disbelief. She'd come to that conclusion when she'd stood with him on the dance floor. The pieces had unwittingly fallen into place and she'd realized his actions went far beyond retribution. He'd been making a statement far more complex than a callous act of anger. Still, hearing him admit it, hearing him say the words left her shaking in shock and anguish.

"You said you didn't want me to change. You said you knew I'd always be screwed up, but you wanted to be with me anyway. You said I was the most incredible man you'd ever known and I trusted you."

She cringed at the agony in his tone. "I thought…"

"I believed you'd stay," he said, stepping into her space once again, so close she could feel his heated breath on her. "I counted on it."

"I wanted…"

"I was planning a life with you, Cuddy. And the whole time you were finding reasons to leave me," he sneered.

She fought to resist the urge to sob. "Stop," she said, lifting her hands to push him away. She needed space. She couldn't breathe.

"I hoped you'd stop me," he went on fiercely explaining. "I thought you'd see what I was doing…"

"Stop," she said again, more frantic this time as she pushed him harder.

He kept his stance, dropping his cane to the floor and grabbing her wrists.

"You know me better than anyone, Cuddy." He gave her a firm shake. "You knew what it meant to let me love you. You knew what you were doing. You didn't just break my heart; you took away the one thing I was hanging onto."

"Stop it," she screamed at him, fighting to break free of his firm hold. She didn't want to hear anymore. She didn't want to know.

"I wanted to marry you," he said again, his voice losing strength as he pulled her to him.

Cuddy wept openly now, her head falling against his chest as she wept.

She'd always known he believed in love and marriage. As much as he mocked everyone who failed at their relationships or proved to have an unfaithful heart, it wasn't because he thought they were pathetic for trying. Most people believed it was his cynicism coming out. They were wrong. He mocked them to hide the hurt and defeat he felt when his romantic notions were challenged.

When House gave himself, it was completely and he wanted it to be for life. He'd even held on to his faith in Stacy long after the infarction and betrayal. He'd only let go to save her. He'd realized she would never be able to handle his intensity, his issues.

"I believed in you," he said, his lips brushing against her hair.

House had believed she was strong enough to handle him and all of his problems. He'd believed she loved him enough to fight for him.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry."

She'd walked away from his love and taken so much more than his heart. She'd trampled on the one thing he'd held onto through the years of disappointments, pain and sorrow. Marrying that woman had been more than just a way of hurting Cuddy – though that was of fundamental importance in the act - it had been a way of hurting himself. He was pushing a self-destruct button, mocking his faith in commitment and love, trapping himself in a loveless relationship and reinforcing the belief he didn't deserve to be happy.

"I needed you to stop me, Cuddy," he whispered against her temple.

"I wanted to," she said as she looked up at him. "I wanted to."

He kissed her, his lips sealing hers in a fury as his tongue plundered. She matched his fervor, nipping at his lips then thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He held her wrists between them as he pushed against her, pressing her into the desk. He surrounded her, controlled her. The dominance of the act was undeniable. He sought to recapture what she'd taken from him, to reclaim what had been lost. His tongue ravaged her, tearing down the walls that kept her safe and controlled, demanding her full participation and response.

Hunger surged through Cuddy. She sucked at his tongue, drawing him in as she writhed against him.

He released her wrists. His hand pushed at the slit of her dress, quickly pushing it up on her hips so he could cup the skin of her thighs. He lifted her onto the desk, opening her legs wide for him.

Cuddy felt her panties tear as he ripped them from her. She jerked, gasping in surprise at his aggression. He growled deep in his throat and moved his mouth across her cheek and down her neck. He sucked on the skin at the pulse of her neck and she arched her back in erotic response.

She was under siege. His hands were all over her: pulling down the bodice of her dress, exposing her breasts for his hungry touch. Desire surged through her as his fingers brushed her nipples, cupped the full weight of her breasts, and lifted them to his mouth. His hips ground into her, his erection pushing against her stomach.

Her brain fried beneath the heat of passion and she began tearing at his clothes.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you for the comments and reviews. It's not easy writing this couple. They are both screwed-up, both simultaneously weak and strong when it comes to each other, and as a result of the baggage they carry, both fully engaged in a love/hate relationship. They both have done a lot wrong, and a lot right. They have both experienced pain on varying levels and for different reasons. I try not to place blame as I write them. I don't choose sides; I choose them. I hope you will too._

_This smut is angsty. Try to breath. This is a romance, not a tragedy. Keep the faith._

_Disclaimer: I have never written for House or David Shore. This is all on me._

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Cuddy felt it stirring in her before she could give it a name. It was rising up within her with seismic force, pushing beyond the passion and desire…beyond the guilt. She was angry.

Damn him! He'd spent years mocking and teasing her, embarrassing and humiliating her. She'd looked passed it; she'd pushed through and let herself love him anyway. He'd swallowed up that love and loyalty in his black whole of neediness. He'd drained all her reserves until she'd had nothing left to give. She'd been left empty; hanging on to the only thing she knew would pull her through: control. Now he was determined to break that, to break her with his declarations and insights into their warped time together.

_Yes, I wanted to marry you. I knew we were screwed up. I knew we had problems, but I believed in us. I believed in you!_

What about her and what she believed? She'd trusted him. He'd pushed the limits, tested her, lied to her and done what he wanted to do from the start. His positive moves were so meshed with the negatives it was hard to figure out what way to turn.

_I was lashing out. I wanted you to experience the pain I was feeling. _

He'd wanted to hurt her for hurting him. How dare he try to justify what he'd done! Nothing justified it. Nothing!

But he was touching her, kissing her, plundering her, and it felt good. So many months of pretending not to feel, trying to prevent him from going off the ledge while at the same time erecting walls for emotional distance, going through the motions had left her wound too tightly.

When his jacket and shirt were finally freed from his body, she caught him by the arms. Her fingers dug into his biceps and she bit his chest. House winced and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so he could capture her mouth again.

Her hands fumbled with the snap of his pants until she freed his cock and took it in her hand. There were no tentative touches, no grazing his tip or exploring the feel of his massive erection. She dove right in. She began to stroke him with strong, even movements that drove him mad.

"God!" he cried out, and looked down at her.

He shuddered at the furious eyes staring back at him, daring him to stop her. There was something detached in the way she was touching him, the way she kissed him and continued to bite him. She was wild and ferocious. She was fighting him, fighting her own demons. When he felt her other hand take hold of his sac and her finger graze the pucker behind, his legs went weak and he staggered backwards. She pushed him into the chair behind him.

Cuddy dropped to her knees in front of him, taking him deep into her mouth. She was ravaging him, consuming him. Quickly drawing him to the edge.

"Cuddy," he said as he gasped for air. He wanted to stop her, to slow her down. He wanted her to feel more than angry desperation. He needed her to feel more than the survival instinct that seemed to be driving her.

Her tongue flicked the tip of him and his hips catapulted forward. He felt the pounding pulse in his cock and knew an explosion was eminent.

She pulled away from him, bringing the crescendo to an abrupt halt.

"You son-of-a-bitch," she said. The blood was pounding in his ears, but he heard the sneer, felt the hostility. "It's always about you, what you feel and what you want!"

She touched him again, stroking him hard, giving him a quick pounding. He was helpless to stop the response rising back up in his body. Even as his defenses shot up at the way she assailed him, the desire rocked him to his core. His body grew still and he shuddered against the tide rolling in.

She pulled her hand away from his shaft and fiercely cupped his balls. He shook from the sudden stop, his body convulsing as she held his orgasm at bay. He caught her glare, recognized her wrath. She was tormenting him.

"Cuddy," he said in a soft, husky tone.

Cuddy wouldn't let his tender eyes and careful voice sway her. She moved up his torso, her mouth and breast grazing his abdomen and chest before she hovered over him. Pivoting quickly so her back was to him, she straddled his legs, holding herself above him as she moved his cock along her moist sleeves.

House sucked in air through his clenched teeth.

"That feels good?" she asked coolly.

He experienced that familiar, untamed response to her. It left him trembling with expectation while he desperately searched for a deeper connection. She was such a tumultuous mix of conflicting emotions; he felt as if he were being sucked up in the funnel of a tornado. He was afraid, almost terrified that he would be destroyed by the force.

_I did this to her. I brought out this venom._

The shame washed over him. They'd come so far and yet the past hung on to them like an albatross, a curse that drew them together and kept them apart. They were always out-of-sync.

He ran his hand gently along her spine, wanting to soothe and calm her. He knew what she was doing, blocking his gaze, keeping him at a distance while she used her body as a weapon. The ruthless, merciless torment and shame that was currently driving her was something he understood on a visceral level. It was ironic really. She was blocking him emotionally, but he was feeling a connection beyond any they'd shared. He knew what it was like to be so overtaken with pain, to be blinded by the savagery of intractable emotions.

She lowered herself onto him, slowly surrounding him with her heat. His arms slid around her, hugging her as she sank onto him, seeding his cock deep within. "That's it, Cuddy," he said close to her ear. "Let it out. Let go."

"Shut up!" she bit out.

Her hands grabbed his wrist, trying to pull them away from her body. He wouldn't let go. He held her tight, vaguely processing the grip she had on him would probably leave marks.

"Tell me what you need," he said, moving his hips to increase the pressure.

She tried to rise up, to fully pull away from him. He held her firm. It was killing him; his body was covered in sweat as he restrained himself beneath her. He knew he needed to be patient, to wait for the storm to pass. This was her time.

She pushed against him, fighting his embrace and writhing on his lap. Her interior muscles tightened around his shaft, gripping him, locking him within walls. It was a sheer strength of will and an abiding concern for her that prevented him from coming.

He moved a hand to cup her breast as the other dropped to cup her mound. His arms remained tense and held her tight, preventing her from escaping as he moved his chin gently along his back.

"Oh," she inhaled sharply when his finger slid against her nub. Her body was alive; every nerve ending was on alert, tingling and pulsating between pleasure and pain.

"Let it go, Cuddy."

She didn't know if he was talking about the anger or the orgasm, the pain or the ecstasy. It didn't matter. They were drowning her, robbing her of what control she'd been maintaining and leaving her quivering beneath the shock.

Her chin dropped to her chest and she felt the tears pressing against her eyes.

"What do you need?" He whispered.

"I don't know," she said in frustration.

He felt the crack in her shell and he made his move. He pushed her off his lap, swallowing a cry as his cock was released, and turned her around to face him. He pulled her down onto his lap and plunged into her.

She yelped as he filled her, spreading wide to receive him fully. He knew she needed to come, knew she needed the release even more than him, but they needed to be here in the moment together, not trapped in the punishing chains of the past.

He reached up and gently cupped her jaw. "Look at me," he pleaded, needing to remind her of the better part of them, remind her of his heart.

She looked down to where their bodies were joined and arched her back, creating a pull at his groin as her sex clung tightly to him. He groaned and dropped his hands to her thighs. He needed to move, to drive into her again and again, but she lifted up until all but the tip of him remained at her entrance. He pushed up and she pulled away, just out of his reach. She kept teasing him, promising the fulfillment he needed but keeping it out of his reach. He tried to remain calm and steady, allowing her to punish him with the angry tease of her body. She deserved it. She'd held it together for him. Hell, she'd held him together more times than he could count. He owed her.

His fingers ran gently along her thighs, lightly caressing as he tried to consciously relax beneath her. It was impossible. His entire being was quaking beneath the physical and emotional strain.

She felt his body shaking and shuddering, and at last her eyes locked with his. She froze as the laser intensity of his stare cut through the haze in her mind, and she processed what was happening between them.

"I hate you," she sobbed.

He leaned into her. "I know," he said, and she felt his breath heave out of him.

Cuddy caressed his jaw and studied his face, searching his expression, reading him like a book. His eyes didn't leave hers as his hips began to lunge. He was unable to hold out any longer; she was unwilling to fight him. She matched his rhythm, her breasts bouncing, her hips pounding. This was it. This was what they had: this stolen moment. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even right, but it was what they needed. So she took it.

He came with a hoarse cry just as the tremors took her over. Their orgasm lasted extended over minutes; House was relentless in extending her pleasure with the focused intensity of his desire and obsession.

She collapsed against him. He held her close, his hands sliding up and down her back as their breathing calmed and they awaited recovery of their senses.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear.

"I know," he said, leaning back to look in her eyes. There was so much still unsaid, so much to confront, but he didn't want to let her go.

A sudden veil of sadness seemed to cover her as she kissed him lightly on the lips. He braced himself against the onslaught of fear and foreboding that washed over him at her light touch.

"I wasn't finding reasons to leave you, House," she finally said. "I had lost myself. I was trying to find my way."

He flinched. She didn't have to explain. He knew. He had been so desperate to please her, so demanding and needy, the pressure had been a vacuum sucking the life out of her.

"I can do better." He hated himself as soon as he said it. How many times would he say that to her?

But she smiled at him sadly. "So can I," she said. "But we can't try. We can't do this. Not yet."

He watched her slide off his lap and begin adjusting her clothes. He remained cemented to the chair, the weight of truth preventing his movement.

"You're not the only one who needs to make changes," she said.

"We can change together," he said in a hopeful voice that was almost her undoing. "We can work on it together."

She shook her head at him. "I bend rules for you, make exceptions for you, I make sacrifices and compromises every day for you," she said. "And that's okay because I choose to do it. What I won't do anymore is allow myself to get lost in you, to forget who I am because I'm trying so hard to hold us together. I have to do what's right for me. I'm not going to make the same mistakes over again."

She ran her fingers through her hair, looking slight mussed instead of put back together. She'd probably stop by the ladies room on the way back to the party and touch-up her hair and make-up.

_She's leaving._

He closed his eyes at the realization. She was leaving him again.

"House," she called to him from the door. He looked at her with glassy, defeated eyes.

"I do love you," she said. "But I won't be the other woman. I can't. I'm sorry."

As the door closed behind her, his head fell in defeat. His eyes caught sight of his jacket and the paper sticking out of the pocket: the letter scheduling his divorce proceedings. He hadn't gotten around to telling her, to explaining his plan…maybe it was for the best.


	11. Chapter 11

_As they learn and grow apart, they are drawn even more together. The steps toward reconciliation are clear._

_Disclaimer: I am only a fan, not the creative and destructive director of the show and character called House MD._

* * *

**Chapter 11**

The air raid sirens were still sounding as the steady ratt-a-tatt-tatt of machine gun fire and the swoosh of fighter planes continued around them. House looked over at Cuddy when she jumped at the sound of a bomb exploding in the distance. She was nervous and jumpy; his leg was aching and his nerves on edge. The danger was starting to feel real.

When Cuddy had asked him to join the team of doctors in training a missionary team in CPR, first aid and emergency medical services, he'd resisted. It was bad enough trying to teach interns, much less a group of Christians with no medical training, an unwarranted faith in religion and a radical idealism that served no logical purpose in the "mission field." Then he'd found out she would be on the team. Since he took every opportunity to be with her these days, he accepted.

They'd been in a good place the past couple of weeks. It had surprised him. After the way she'd left him the night of the fundraiser, he'd expected things to be tense and stilted, awkward and cold. They hadn't talked about what had happened; they hadn't even referenced that night. When he caught her looking at him with searching eyes, he would answer her with a penetrating stare of his own. When he felt her watching him from a distance, feeling the warmth of awareness around him, she'd quickly avert her eyes when he turned to her. They'd treated each other with impeccable professional courtesy, falling into old flirtatious, verbal sparring habits now and again, but maintaining a respectable emotional and physical distance at all times. Except now. They were very close at the moment.

Cuddy watched the movement of his hand as House rubbed his thigh. She had no doubt his leg was starting to ache. There were eight of them packed into the crate, crouched on the floor of the container with no room to move or stretch. The air had begun to feel stale, which only contributed to the increasing anxiety brought on by the war sounds beyond the confines of the box.

It was hard to see his face since the only light came from the seams at the edges of the box, but she felt him watching her. She could imagine his expression, envision the same look she'd seen last week when he'd surprised her and shown up at her lecture.

The Association for Healthcare Philanthropy (AHP) had been holding their regional conference in New Jersey this year and had asked her to be the keynote speaker. Her success increasing revenue, productivity and reputability at PPTH was becoming renowned, and the request was a huge honor for her. She'd spent weeks preparing the lecture on "Tactics and Tools for Development Programs that Engage Donors, Staff and Leadership" and was well prepared. Yet standing in front of the prestigious gathering of hospital leaders, she'd felt her anxiety spike. She'd been a wreck. That is until she'd walked up to the podium and felt a tingling along her spine.

She'd known immediately he was there. She felt his presence long before she caught sight of him.

He was sitting in the back row, slumped low in his seat, watching her with those intent blue eyes. There was something about the way he stared at her – the mix of feral lust, tenderness and admiration – that lifted her above the situation and made her feel as if everything was possible. It's why she often sought him out when she was facing problems at work. As frustrating and infuriating as he could be, as stimulated and alive as he made her, he was her safety net. Just having him around was an affirmation that catapulted her beyond the stress and weight of her current circumstances and into a space of calm.

He'd not only stayed for the lecture, but for the question/answer segment after. At the end, when she'd been surrounded by enthusiastic colleagues congratulating her, she'd watched him slip out the auditorium doors. The look of pride she'd seen on his face was thrilling; the look of love in his eyes left her breathless.

She'd tried to find him at his office that evening and the next morning, but he'd been MIA until almost noon. When he'd stepped through the doors of the hospital, she'd made a beeline for him. She wanted to thank him for being there for her, for showing up and being her rock. She'd come to realize he was the support she sought when things became confused and difficult. He was sarcastic, inappropriate, rude and an unlikely confidant, but she'd come to depend on him more than she – or anyone - realized.

He'd been abrupt and angry when she'd approached him, avoiding her eyes and snapping at her. She'd fought the urge to snap back and fight him, choosing to respond with the concern she actually felt. It had proven to be the right move.

"_I had a rough session with Nolan today," he'd admitted as he'd stepped into the elevator. "Becoming a better person actually sucks."_

Cuddy jumped when the pop of pistol fire sounded just outside the wall behind her and shook her from her reverie.

"This is a lot different than our laser tag game," House said.

She smiled, as much at the memory as the revelation that he was thinking about her too. He was remembering how they played together.

She'd wanted to distract him, to give him a chance to have a little fun after what seemed to be an emotionally draining therapy session. She'd had a box delivered to his office containing a laser tag belt and gun. The attached note read: The game is afoot. Three strikes and you're out. C

He'd found her in the park outside the hospital, where they'd spent the next hour hiding behind trees and in bushes, dodging laser "bullets" as they strategically moved around their battlefield. In the end, he'd won, tagging her three times, each causing the alarm on her belt to sound. He'd grinned like a little boy, and she'd found herself giggling like a school girl. They'd been carefree for a time. They'd had fun. That had been something missing in their relationship, something needed. House needed a playmate as much as she needed to remember to play. That day, something had shifted between them and they'd both silently committed to take more time to enjoy each other.

"Are they just going to leave us in here?" Julie asked. She was the pastor's wife who was currently held captive with them.

When Cuddy had agreed to build the team of doctors to train the missionaries, she'd also agreed to participate in their training simulation to get a feel for what the missionaries may be facing. She thought it would help the team focus the medical training. She'd had no idea they'd be involved in a hostage simulation: trapped in a box with six other people with no idea where the other thirteen group members had been taken as they waited for the government to complete negotiations for their release.

Earlier, they had heard testimonies from missionaries who had actually survived hostage situations and had been instructed to take the simulation serious. It would not benefit them to forcefully redirect their minds and focus on the "game" aspect. They needed to immerse themselves in the situation to understand the psychology and feel the pressures of what they may face.

House rolled his eyes at the woman. "Of course they are," he snapped. "That's the point of your mission trip right? To teach people how to be trapped in a box of limited, visionless thinking?"

Cuddy nudged him with her leg.

"You don't have much respect for us, do you?" House recognized the voice of the pastor. With him was Julie, his wife; Shane, a seminary student; Louis, a retired corporate executive; Jessica, a church administrator; and Frieda, a college student majoring in Middle Eastern studies. All of them felt a "calling" to become missionaries.

House could feel Cuddy glaring at him.

"I don't know you," House answered, carefully choosing his response. "But, contrary to Christianity, altruism and psychological blackmail are not mutually inclusive."

"We should probably…" Cuddy tried to redirect the conversation. She'd told him when he agreed to participate in this project that he'd need to keep a reign on his atheist arguments. They were there to understand the mission and train the group in basic medical response, not to debate their beliefs and ideologies.

"It's okay, Dr. Cuddy," the pastor said. "I'd like to hear his thoughts."

"You go off on the missions and feel good about yourself because you have joined the fellow victims of theocratic repression, but you're not," House answered the pastor with his usual unadulterated truth. "Proselytizing is forbidden in these areas, and yet you go in under false pretenses - as business people or teachers - and you promise them a better life if they follow your 'God' and convert to your religion. You share the 'good news' and insist they do the same, but you have a right of privilege, a get out of death free card. It's called an American passport. They don't. Your way is certain death for them. Instead of bringing life to a desperate and hungry people, you increase their chances of assassination by their own government. That's not altruism. That's a subversive genocide."

"You assume we come with subversive agendas? As imperialist evangelists?"

"You delude yourself that you're not?"

"House!" Cuddy's tone was a warning.

"Dr. House," the pastor calmly responded. "We are very respectful of cultures, not a carrier of cultural imperialism. We don't actually go into these areas with the intent to proselytize, but with the acceptance that it may happen as relationships are developed. We try to do our work with integrity and competency and refrain from in-your-face preaching the 'good news' as you say. We work and develop relationships; we show our love and care for the people of this world. If people ask us what we believe, or why we love, or even why we have enough faith to come into these areas, we feel very free to explain."

"Oh, I see," House said. "You manipulate to convert."

To Cuddy's surprise, the pastor smiled.

"A missionary doesn't convert, Dr. House. Our duty is to show His love. Only God can convert."

The searchlights of a rebel foot patrol began to shine around the perimeter of the box and all conversation ceased. They all became still and focused, their senses alive and attuned as they listened to every sound outside the box.

The voices spoke in an abrupt, hostile foreign language. Cuddy looked at House as he frowned in concentration.

"The other team members are alive," he whispered. "The UHF radio they had was apprehended."

"You understand them?" Shane asked. He was the young kid who'd been attending seminary.

"He speaks several languages," Cuddy explained, but didn't take her eyes off House.

"The exchange deal with the government has fallen through," he said. "They are arguing ways to force their hand. These guys are anti-government rebels of some sort."

House had to hand it to this group. They had set-up a convincing scenario. You could check-out mentally, of course, and remind yourself it was just an exercise, but they made it very easy to become consumed and engaged in the simulation.

The small opening at the top of the box was opened and the rebels pointed guns down at them.

"You are all willing to give your life to this cause?" One of the rebels sneered. "You will choose which one will take a bullet in the head."

Several group members gasped.

"You have ten minutes to decide," he said. "Then one of you will die."

The other rebels could be heard laughing as the lid was closed again and they were left in the dark, the sounds of war and their own horror engulfing them.

House looked at Cuddy with sad and resolute eyes.

There was nothing like a dose of reality to remind him of all the reasons he didn't deserve her, the reasons he should have walked away from her long ago.

He didn't need to listen to the conversation between his fellow hostages to know what decision they would make. In fact, they had an easier decision than the other teams would have. He was a misanthropic, egotistical ass with more cynicism than social skills. He had a gift for alienating people; he wasn't married (not a real marriage, at least), he had no children and his leg gave him a handicap that would only be a burden in a crisis situation. His life held little value in comparison to theirs.

The choice was clear. He would be sacrificed.


	12. Chapter 12

_And the hostage simulation continues. I really have enjoyed these last two chapters. I hope you're as excited as I am. :-o Thanks for all the comments. My readers are awesome. Special thanks to Katie for previewing and telling me I'm not crazy.  
_

_Disclaimer: I'm not connected with the show, as you know. I just use the characters for entertainment...and fantasy._

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The seven hostages in the box flinched at the sound of the shot and the slight rustling sound of their martyred comrade falling to the ground. Of course it they were just using cap guns, but it sounded real. It felt real. The men seemed to be frozen, their expressions closed and sober; the women began to cry. Even Cuddy had tears pooling in her eyes as she looked at House with a grieved, introspective expression.

This was a simulation, a role-playing game, and yet it had forced a life-or-death thinking that provided much more than just philosophical, social or even gender considerations. It forced a self-evaluation that was often ignored and avoided in everyday life.

"_What kind of Kool-aid have you all been drinking?"_

When it became apparent the majority vote was leaning toward sacrificing the pastor over him, House had mocked them. Even now he couldn't believe what he'd heard. They had dolefully discussed their options and had made the impossible determination on the intrinsic value of each life…and sacrificing him hadn't even been an option.

"_I realize this is just a simulation and the doctors here won't be out in the field with you," he'd argued. "But the object of this little exercise is to use logic, to be strategic and think like guerrilla soldiers in a war situation."_

_Six sets of shocked eyes turned to him; one closed her eyes and dropped her head in sadness._

"_You think we're not?" Shane asked, clearly confused by the outburst._

"_Not once in this entire discussion did you bring up the atheist gimp with no wife or kids, and who definitely doesn't meet your righteous criteria for goodness and light," he sneered. "So no! I don't think you're thinking at all."_

"_Is that how you think we see you?" Jessica, the church administrator, asked softly._

_House frowned, suddenly very aware they were looking at him with commiseration and compassion. He turned to Cuddy, puzzled and confused. _

"_Tell him what you see," she said, her sad eyes fixed on him now._

"_You're brilliant," Louis said. He was a corporate executive who readily respected intelligence. "You think outside the box and look at things from every angle before making a decision. You're not phased by emotions or propriety. You just seek truth."_

"_You're a doctor," Freida, the college student, said. "We're going to need you to get out of here alive."_

"_Aside from knowing the language," the seminary student, Shane, answered as if he were stating the obvious. "You seem to have a real knack for reading people, and understanding their motives and weaknesses."_

"_I watched you earlier during the initial training," Julie said. She was the pastor's wife who'd been warily watching him all morning. "You can manipulate people and circumstances to your benefit with just a turn of the word."_

"_If anyone is going to get us out of this situation with a minimum casualty, it's you," the pastor said, respect reflected in his tone. "You weren't mentioned because none of us consider you an option. We can't do this without you."_

Cuddy still held his hand. He'd appeared so stunned and shaken by the revelation that these strangers placed such value and trust in him. She'd crawled over to sit close beside him, taking his hand in hers and resting her head on his shoulder.

She wasn't unmoved by this situation, either. It hadn't been that long ago she'd faced death and been forced to consider her life, Rachel's future and even her life choices. She'd been gripped with fear and guilt…and if she were honest, anger.

These people weren't being ruled by emotions. They were feeling the weight of them and yet not using them as a lens through which to view mistakes and failures. They weren't keeping tally of wrong-doing or even considering the possibility that a member of the team would fail to step up in a crisis. When faced with life of death, they seemed to have faith in the enduring human spirit and love for life that would override all else in the end. They focused on positives because those traits were what really mattered, those characteristics would make things right.

Watching them, experiencing this with them, Cuddy felt humbled. She'd been so afraid during her cancer scare, so lost in the visions from her dreams and the taunting from her deepest insecurities, she'd been unable to see the bigger picture. It was ironic really. She was a doctor, trained to make quick life and death decisions and act on them. Yet her decision hadn't factored in the full, complex equation of House.

She'd seen him as unable to be there for her when she needed him the most. She'd seen his weaknesses, his crutches, but completely failed to see the strength and nobility beneath those layers. She'd focused on the fact he took drugs to have the strength to be with her without considering the other angle: he had the strength to take drugs and be with her. When the speculation became reality, he felt the weight of emotions that these strangers felt, and with those emotions came an unbearable pain. He didn't cave beneath the pressure as she'd assumed. He'd seen what needed to happen. He'd known he needed to be with her, understood what she was facing and what he would be facing, he'd factored in all of the data and made the most difficult decision he could make for himself. He'd sacrificed his sobriety, something he'd worked hard to achieve, something he struggled with and overcame on a daily basis. When faced with her needs, his needs became secondary. As was so typical of House, his everyday heroism was hidden beneath a mask of selfishness and narcissism. She'd missed it; she'd had it backwards and she felt ashamed.

She didn't have time to dwell on it or to think about what he was feeling at the moment, to consider what he would be processing and thinking. The rebels tore open the cover again and began to demand another "sacrifice"…this time a woman. The leering and laughing on their vile faces made it clear they would be receiving more than a bullet to the head. When one of them pointed the gun at her, Cuddy burrowed behind House, clutching his hand and his arm.

House laughed. Wide eyes stared at him as he mocked the rebels. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but Cuddy recognized his tone. He was verbally slicing them up, feeding them doubts and fears they hadn't considered or even thought possible. He was strategically placing them on a different path as only he could do.

One of the rebels shot a gun in the air and said something to the others that caused them to look in the distance. With a final hostile look in Cuddy's direction, they slammed the lid of the container and rustled away.

The hostages remained frozen, listening to the rustling noises and finally a similar scene being played out in the distance.

"The other team members are being held hostage in other containers," Shane said, explaining the obvious.

"What did you say to them?" Freida asked

"I told him there was a certain irony to him wanting a piece of her since she has AIDS and would have the last laugh in the end."

The team stared at him, shocked…except for Cuddy.

"You said more than that," she said.

He shrugged. "I may have said some things that hit a bulls-eye."

House turned to look at the team. "They will be back," he said. "And they will demand another hostage until the government meets their demands. We've bought ourselves a little time, but we need to strategize. We need to make it worth their while to keep us alive. We need to have something they would find beneficial. I need you to think about everything you know, every skill you possess, every contact you have and toss it out. We're brainstorming here and nothing is trivial at this point. Understand?"

He looked around as the team nodded their understanding.

Cuddy was mesmerized. House was doing a DDX on this hostage scenario, breaking it down to formulate theories, predict outcomes and determine the best course of action.

"Go!" she heard him say.

He really was a hero

* * *

They'd eaten a catered sandwich lunch while the liberated hostage team assembled for a "debriefing." The trainers, who had acted as rebels during the simulation, led the group in a discussion surrounding the team's thoughts regarding the ambiguity of the situation.

"Was it clear in your mind what to do?"

Of course the teams were relieved the ordeal was over, but a lively discussion of emotional responses, traditional logic versus crisis rationale, and even gender roles within the groups followed. The team was analytical, open to opposing opinions and uncommon thoughts in their search for a deeper understanding of what had happened, and to what has happened with missionaries in the field who had in fact been held hostage in the past.

"We were forced to use our individual strengths and creativity to save the team," Julie said and looked at House with a great deal of admiration. "We were fortunate to have someone on our team so fearless and willing to step up to the plate."

House frowned.

"Can we go now?" House grumbled.

Cuddy smiled. His team of hostages laughed.

The discussion continued for another half hour before the group was released with schedules of when their medical training would take place at PPTH. There would be daily sessions for a week, split into 2-hour segments between the five doctors involved in the simulation, including House and Cuddy.

"This will count as clinic duty, you know?" Cuddy teased as they walked toward the parking lot.

House didn't respond.

"Hey," she said, nudging him slightly with her shoulder. His mind was far away. "You okay?"

He looked at her with that raw, vulnerability that killed her every time. His walls were crumbling. He was fully capable of holding it together for the long haul, but there came a time when he let his guard down, when the walls began to crumble a bit and the man behind the mortar was revealed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and turned toward his motorcycle parked in the space beside her car.

"House," she called as she grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving. "Please don't shut me out. Talk to me."

His eyes bore into her, the blue orbs piercing her with a tearing intensity.

"Tomorrow," he insisted and turned again to leave.

"House!"

He turned back to her, closing the space between them until she found herself backed up against her car. His eyes consumed her as he searched her face, her lips, her breasts. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat of his skin and breath radiating around her. She gasped beneath the surge of lust that shot through her. His nostrils flared as if he'd caught her scent and his eyes narrowed.

Her senses were beyond alert; they'd shifted to overdrive long ago.

"I'm not shutting you out," he finally said in a heavy, raspy voice. "I just think it would be better to talk to Nolan right now and not the woman I need to make love to but can't."

She hadn't been able to respond. He didn't give her a chance anyway.

As he drove away, leaving her standing frozen in her spot in an empty parking lot, she began to cry.


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you all for your comments and support. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: With talks like this, there's no way you could think I'm connected with the show._

* * *

**Chapter 13**

The door swung open before he'd even knocked.

"Expecting someone?" House asked, wary and concerned.

"You," Cuddy immediately answered.

When he'd left Nolan's office he hadn't intended to come see her. In fact, he'd thought it would be best to wait to talk to her, to give himself a chance to digests the outpouring of thoughts and emotions that had occurred as a result of the hostage simulation. Nolan thought he'd had a tremendous breakthrough; House just felt tired and weary…and hungry to see her.

The repairs had been completed and she was back at home now. His motorcycle seemed to automatically turn into the neighborhood; it didn't surprise him. It was an old pattern, a habit he'd unconsciously formed even before they'd gotten together: seeking that sense of restless calm and safety, of being so exhilaratingly alive. He felt better when he was with her. Over time those feelings had become distorted beneath fear and shame, finally morphing into a desperate need. Tonight it felt healthy, pure.

"You didn't know I was coming," he pointed out.

"Yes, I did," she said. "I've been waiting for you."

They stared at each other in heavy silence. She'd been expecting him. She'd known when he left her in that parking lot that it was only a temporary escape he was seeking. He'd been afraid she would be angry or even worse, hurt that he had run away again, that he hadn't stayed to talk to her when she'd asked. It had just been too much; too many emotions. He'd felt the tension building, not a pressure that would explode, but one that threatened to implode. Had he stayed to talk with her, he feared she'd get sucked into the black hole that would surely form. He was afraid he'd screw things up if he stayed. He was sure he'd screwed things up when he left.

But she'd been waiting for him, expecting him. He wasn't sure what that meant.

She possessed the same calm, controlled presence that was so much a part of her, but there was something in the stormy blue of her eyes as she looked at him that had him searching her, trying to gauge her thoughts and mood. At first glance she appeared almost passive as she continued to grip the door and look him over, performing her own evaluation. But he saw the way the fingers of her other hand idly tapped her thigh through the grey robe she was wearing, noticed the subtle shift in her weight and the way she bit at her lower lip. She was nervous, even skittish, and there was a hint of worry in her eyes.

He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but how? How could he explain what was going on inside him? What words could he say that could even start the conversation?

_I suck at this._

Emotions and relationships baffled him. They always had. He was useless…

"You're still the most amazing man I've ever known," she broke the silence.

His eyes went wide at this unexpected declaration.

"I really screwed up," she said, finally releasing the door and crossing her arms in front of her in a protective gesture as a gush of words began to pour out of her. "I was afraid of what they'd find in the biopsy and I kept thinking about Rachel and what would happen to her and I felt so alone and was afraid she'd be alone too. And I'd been so sure you'd come, and you did. You did come, but I'd had all the nightmares and all I could see was the drugs and the weakness and I hate that about myself. My mom does that! She finds fault with everything I do; she never sees the positives, but never fails to point out every negative. She always attacked me and pointed out every little thing I did wrong. I never wanted to be that way! But when things started to go wrong, I didn't know what to do. I felt like I wasn't good enough and I'd hear her voice and I did the same things to you that she did to me. And I hate myself for that!"

She pushed her hair off her brow as she took a deep breath. His eyes followed the movement before returning to her eyes when she immediately picked up where she left off.

"I watched you today," she said. "You were such a jerk and so arrogant when you told them their mission was genocide. But you were so great. So amazing. I've seen it so many times – the way you can just see things and know what to do, the way you peel back all the layers and find truth – and I know it's not as selfish as you make it out to be. I've always known that. I've always seen that part of you that genuinely cares and will actually sacrifice yourself to do what's right and solve the problem. I'm the one who looks past the façade and sees what's going on in you. But I didn't. I completely missed it."

Her eyes began to pool with tears; his stomach clenched tighter than the hand that clutched his cane.

"You fought so hard to get clean," she acknowledged. "I know how hard you tried and how difficult it was. I know every day was hard and I didn't make it any easier for you. I do see that. I want you to know that. I need you to know that I understand what you sacrificed. I understand what a huge decision it was, and I do know it was more than just fear. You were there for me and I was too wrapped up in what I was feeling to see it. I'm sorry, House. I'm so sorry I didn't see it. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, too."

House swallowed so hard he felt the burn deep in his throat. He could feel the self-reproach emanating from her; he could see her guilt. He didn't deserve such grace, not after all he'd done.

"It wasn't as if I gave you much of a chance to figure it out before I attacked," he shrugged uncomfortably, his own sense of shame washing over him. He hadn't gone after her, hadn't tried to explain; he hadn't fought for them at all. He'd been too ashamed of his weakness, too humiliated that he'd let her down; he'd been too crushed by her betrayal. It wasn't an excuse for the debauchery he leapt into, but it was a fact.

He looked down at his cane as he began to tap it on the ground. Up and down. Up and down.

"I never could do anything right for my father," he said, beginning in mid-thought as if they'd been talking about his past all night. "I always tried and always failed."

Cuddy stilled and focused on what he was saying, realizing what he was about to share was paramount to understanding him as much as important for healing their relationship.

"I wanted him to be proud of me," he continued. "Even after I found out he wasn't my biological father, I wanted…I never understood why he kept…he would…"

House stabbed the ground with his cane and leaned heavily on it. "I would wait for mom to save me because she didn't think I ever did anything wrong. She thought I was perfect. She praised everything I ever did and loved me no matter what." He looked up at her then. "But she never came. She never did rescue me."

His eyes were tortured and bare as he shared with her a wound that had left a permanent scar.

"I waited for her to help me, to take my side and tell Dad I was right. But she never said anything. She went on like…" he sighed and shook his head as if trying to break free of the memory.

"It was a schizophrenic childhood," he said. "Mom loved me, Dad hated me, but no one cared enough to really see me. That's why I wanted to be like the Baraku. It wouldn't matter what anyone thought of me, what was wrong with me or wrong with them. I would have truth and would have the answers. People would need me and no matter what anyone felt that would be the only thing that mattered."

She felt a tear roll down her cheek for the hurt and lost little boy, and for the lonely man he'd become.

"You did it," she said. "You did become that Baraku."

"It didn't matter," he responded pointedly, staring at her with an intensity that sent a tremor down her spine. "Dan never said I was right and I still wait for people who love me to save me."

Cuddy held her breath.

"I waited for you to save me."

He took a step forward and into the doorway, his body crowding hers as he watched her closely.

They really had come into the relationship with screwed up ideas and more baggage than any one relationship could sustain.

She searched for the right words to say, to respond.

The air crackled around them, her skin tingled with awareness, and her nerves became highly sensitized.

He took another step closer. She moved back, he stepped forward and to the side so her body was angled away from the foyer. She moved back again, but her shoulders collided with the wall. He towered above her as his right hand pushed the door closed and his left rested on the wall beside her head.

"I don't need to be saved," he said, leaning down to move his chin along her jaw.

Cuddy was caught in the spell he was weaving around her. She felt the warmth of his breath and the scratch of his beard against her neck just before his soft lips nipped at the pulse that was racing there. She thought she heard his cane drop, but she couldn't focus on anything except the movement of his tongue along her clavicle, the way he was positioned between her legs, the way he pushed against her.

He leaned back to look at her, his blue eyes full of desire and promised decadence, asking for permission, pleading for a sign.

_Oh, Hell…_

Her hands slid up his chest to cup his jaw.

That was all he needed. His mouth crushed hers.


	14. Chapter 14

_Surprise! Two chapters today. :-)_

_Disclaimer is the same._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

She felt so amazing.

He tasted delicious.

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

He fumbled with the tie of her robe.

House was consumed by her, high from the sheer decadence of her. His tongue laced with hers as he pushed opened the robe and searched for the hem of her gown. She made a mewling sound as his fingers brushed the skin of her thigh; he growled when he discovered she wasn't wearing panties.

Cuddy wasn't passive; she was fully engaged, pushing up his t-shirt and moving her hands frantically over his chest. He broke from her long enough to remove the offending shirt before his mouth closed over hers again. His clever hands removed the robe, and she grappled with his belt. He pulled the gown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor and she tugged at his jeans.

His mouth devoured her as he braced his hands against the wall so he could kick his shoes off and step out of his jeans and boxers. Her palms swept down his chest; his hand slipped between her thighs. She turned her head away from him and gasped for air as his fingers slid along her folds.

"God, Cuddy," he groaned when he felt how hot and wet she was for him.

She grabbed his bare ass, feeling his muscles tense beneath her. Her hands moved up and around, over his muscled back and along the peaks and valleys of his chest and abdomen. Her hands explored him. She wanted to trace the same path with her tongue, but he wouldn't allow enough space between them.

His hands were everywhere. His mouth was on her breast, his tongue teased her nipple. Her body ached and the emptiness in her womb was becoming unbearable.

He cupped her rear and suddenly she was lifted.

"Your leg," she gasped and wrapped her legs around him as he braced her against the wall.

He growled in response.

She could feel him against her. The swollen tip of him was nudging at her entrance. She pushed toward him and he slowly slipped inside, stretching her, filling her.

Cuddy sighed in pleasure and relief. He felt so good.

Her inner muscles pulsed and tightened around him, begging him to go deeper, to sheath himself completely in her. She could feel him deep and high against her and she squirmed against, wanting more of the pleasure he was giving her.

He boosted her higher and drew back from her briefly. She whimpered.

His hips gave a quick pulse and a surge of pleasure shot through her. Then he was driving into her. Stroke after stroke, his hips pinned her tight against the wall.

Her body bowed and tensed; he thrust harder and faster. With every movement he drove her straight to the edge. Tremors rocked her body; her head thrashed back and forth against the wall. Then suddenly she was flying. She came apart in his arms. Wave after wave of bliss washed through her, over her, around her. Somewhere in the distance she heard her name uttered in a guttural groan of ecstasy. She felt his body arch and strain against her and knew he'd found his release, but she was still sailing.

His head dropped to her shoulder as they both sought to catch their breaths. She was trembling; his muscles quivered.

As the minutes passed, her mind began to clear and she realized how much pressure was being placed on his leg. She shifted against him.

"Don't move," he said.

She ran her hand through his hair and kissed the side of his neck. "You need to put me down," she whispered.

"Not yet," he said. His mouth moved against her neck and he nuzzled in closer. She hugged him to her when his arms seemed to hold her tighter.

"I miss you," he admitted in a raw and husky voice.

She missed him too. More than he realized. More than she should, especially right now when it felt so right even though things were still so messed up.

"I need you to fix this for us, House."

He leaned back slightly to look at her, the fog in his own brain beginning to lift.

"I need you to be this open and honest, this fearless," she said. "I need you to save us."

House frowned, the dual indentions between his brows deepening as he processed what she was saying.

She needed him to take charge, to create a plan to remove the obstacles that kept them apart, that prevented her from feeling safe, from letting go. She needed to be able to trust that he would do for them what he'd done for the "hostages" that morning.

"You can forgive me?"

Cuddy could hear the awe in his voice that she would give him another chance. He still didn't get it.

"I already have," she said.

Her hair curled in a wild mess around her. She was flushed, and sweaty. Her lips were swollen and his beard had left burn marks along her skin. She'd never looked more beautiful. He'd never felt so hopeful, so empowered.

"I need you to not shut me out when I do something wrong," he said. "Don't shut me out of your home or your bed. When I screw up is when I need you the most."

Cuddy's eyes widened. She was able to connect the dots between his childhood experiences and fears, and the feelings that overwhelmed him when she rejected him in such a way. She tightened her legs around him.

"I need you to be with me, not just in the big stuff but even in the boring day-to-day things," she said tentatively. "It makes me feel like you are actually sharing my life, that you care about me and not just what I can do for you."

He paused a minute to digest what she was saying. She was always handling things at work and with her family, and generally getting nothing but grief. She needed a partner, not another reason to feel alone.

He gave a single nod of understanding and he took a deep breath. She felt him slip out of her and felt a sudden emptiness at the loss.

"I need you to have fun with me, and not just with video games and sex," he said. "I need you to be my friend."

She thought about their laser tag game and how much fun she had being his playmate. Cuddy smiled, feeling alive and emboldened, almost lighthearted at the way they were revealing hurts, outlining expectations and bargaining for a future. It felt…providential.

"I need you to play the piano for me. I need to experience your love of music."

He grinned and kissed her lightly on the lips. The shift caused a pain to shoot up his leg and he gasped. She tried to shift away from him again, but he held her tight and shook his head. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't want the moment to end.

Before she had a chance to process what he was doing, he was moving, limping the four steps into the dining room where he propped her against the table as he jerked a chair toward him with one hand. He dropped into the seat, pulling her along with him.

She straddled him and lightly ran her hand along his brow then down his cheek and jaw. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, relishing her touch as he took deep breaths and sought to relax.

"I need to be allowed to help you when you're hurting," she said softly.

His lids opened and blue eyes stared at her with a hint of apprehension. She gazed back at him with tenderness, love and admiration. He bit his lower lip and she inherently understood he accepted the request and would try to follow-through.

They sat like that for a long while, quiet and naked in a firm but comfortable embrace. Everything had changed. In one day, the walls and illusions had been shattered and they were facing each other without pretense. It was a frozen moment in time full of profound depth and promise. It was more than either of them could have fathomed; it was more than they thought they deserved.

And yet it wasn't enough.

Cuddy slowly slid off his lap. He took her hand seeking to keep her near.

"You need to go," she said.

He frowned.

"You're still married."

He sighed.

"She doesn't mean anything," he said. "Nothing has happened between us and it never will."

"I know." But she still pulled away from him, walking to the foyer to retrieve her robe.

"Then why can't I stay?" He asked, frustrated. "We're not even an hour into reconciliation and you're already kicking me out of the house. You're already breaking our deal."

She closed her eyes against the ache in her stomach.

"We haven't reconciled, House."

He looked as if she'd slapped him. He stood and faced her, naked and bare, so lost and vulnerable.

"Don't do this to me," he voice shook. "Please don't…"

"I love you, House," she quickly said.

"Then let me stay with you!"

"I can't," she cried. "Don't you see? She represents all the hurt and pain, and every bit of the anger and betrayal that has ever been us. And she's there. She's right there! I don't want to bring her into our future. I can't."

They couldn't start again with that omen haunting them, cursing them.

He dropped his head in defeat. "I'm working on it," he mumbled and stumbled over to pick up his clothes.

She tried to help him, but he gestured her away. He was withdrawing, shutting down. She felt the hollow forming in her gut at the loss of intimacy. She thought about all they'd talked about, all he'd shared. As she watched him slowly dress, she sought for words to comfort him, to encourage him, to stop the abandonment she feared was creeping into his soul. She sought to activate the connection that wasn't broken, but had certainly lost its power.

"What was it you wanted your father to admit you were right about," Cuddy finally asked, when he bent to retrieve his cane.

He paused only a moment before answering. "That I was ok," he said. "I didn't need to do anything except be me…because I mattered."

He wanted to be accepted. He wasn't as immune to that basic need as people assumed.

"You do matter."

He reached for the door. He was going to leave without responding, without even looking at her again. Cuddy felt a sense of panic wash over her

"You were right, House," she said again. "You do matter."

He shook his head and sighed.

She heard the words as the door closed behind him.

"That's not what I need to hear from you."


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry for the delay in posting. RL is a bit crazy right now. Special thanks to the readers who PMd me special nudges and harrassment (you know who you are); I appreciate it. And thanks for all of the reviews. I appreciate the comments and the enthusiasm! :-) And a special shout-out to Katie, who provided the only response to my question on Twitter today! It was a valiant effort at a "good" response. ;-)_**  
**

_Disclaimer: Same denial of ownership, but I take full responsibility for this story._

* * *

**Chapter 15**

"Where's House?"

"It's not my day to watch him," Wilson responded dryly without looking up from the file he was reviewing.

"Cute," Cuddy said. "Where is he?"

"Maybe you should install an invisible fence around the hospital and have it signal you when he steps outside your boundary," he responded sarcastically. "It would be a real 'House trainer'."

"Oh, if it were that easy," she said as she came to sit in the chair across from his desk. "House is not a dog."

"Then why do you treat him like one?"

Wilson was looking at her now, and his expression was set and cold. Cuddy frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're playing games with him," he said.

"I am not."

"He just had brain surgery," he began to break it down for her. "He's only just out of detox and he's working very hard to piece himself back together."

"I know that," she said defensively. "I've been supporting him."

"By having sex with him?" he asked incredulously.

She grimaced.

"Is that your idea of a reward system? Have sex to say good job then send him on his way because he's still not good enough?"

"That's not fair!"

"No, it's not."

"That's not what's happening!"

"You didn't have sex with him?" Wilson challenged. "Twice"

Cuddy began to fidget.

"What? He's reporting our sex life to you now?"

"So you had sex with him?" Wilson was relentless. He was obviously riled.

"You tell me," she bit back at him. "You seem to know everything about what's going on."

Wilson's glared at her, shaking his head in stunned disbelief.

"You really don't get it," he said.

Cuddy averted her eyes and began to pick at a place on her skirt. Wilson watched and waited.

"Is he okay?" she finally said, her concern evident.

"I don't know."

"Don't do this, Wilson," she sighed. "I really need to talk with him."

"No," he stated firmly and sat straight in his chair to return his attention to the patient file he'd been updating.

"No?"

"No," Wilson repeated. "I'm not going to help you screw with him. He deserves better."

"I'm not screwing with him," she said, but paused when he scowled at her. "Not the way you're suggesting! I love him."

"As evidenced by the way you treat him like crap."

Her eyes widened and she leaned forward, a hint of panic in her pose.

"Is that what he thinks?" she asked. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Wilson, this is serious. What has he told you?"

He placed the pen he was holding on his desk and leaned forward, releasing a deep sigh.

"Nothing," Wilson said. "He's shutting down. He was a wreck night before last, but he wouldn't tell me what happened. He paced, deflected, drank all my scotch and analyzed my life, but wouldn't say anything about what he was feeling. He hasn't returned my calls, and he's not been at his apartment when I've checked, so I don't know how bad it is. "

"Then how did you know…ugh…." Her voice trailed off as leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she covered her face with her hands. "I am screwing this up."

Wilson didn't even try to comfort her.

"Do you remember the day House had his breakdown?" Wilson asked. "Before he went to Mayfield? When he was hallucinating?"

"Of course," she whispered, puzzled by the question.

"You were shutting him out," Wilson reminded her. "He thought you two had been together and he was desperate to find a way to get through to you, to prove it meant as much to you as it did to him."

As if she could forget that day. She'd gone through the gamut of emotions, still hurt by his words, embarrassed by his pranks, furious at his balcony declaration, betrayed when she thought he was mocking her as he so easily ignored his erratic behavior and suggested they move in together. He'd almost broken her that day. When she realized it was him that had broken, it had totally gutted her.

"I asked him if he wanted to be the man that was right, or the man that was with you," Wilson said.

Cuddy felt her stomach flip. She'd never heard this part of the story.

"There wasn't a doubt in his mind," he said. "House wanted to be the man with you."

She felt her eyes well with tears, anticipating where this conversation was going.

"He's still that man who wants to be with you, frantically trying to be what you want," Wilson said.

"He is what I want," she said.

Wilson stared at her a moment, trying to discern the truth in her words.

"I don't think he believes that," he finally said. "This is House. He lives with the certainty that he will screw up and his world will blow up around him. Yet, somehow with you he manages to hope that it won't. He keeps on taking those steps of faith, pushing beyond all that cynicism and fear and self-loathing to believe you might actually stay with him."

He paused to make certain he held her attention. "Don't play with him, Cuddy. He can't take it. He'll keep trying, but he doesn't have it in him. You will destroy him."

She wiped her eyes and stood, pulling herself up confidently.

"I'm not playing with him," she reiterated.

"Then stop having sex with him."

* * *

"Need your help!"

As usual, House burst through Wilson's door unannounced.

"Where have you been?"

"Double tit-flick at The Pussy Cat."

"Since it closed in the 80s I'm guessing you've been stoned and hallucinated time travel."

"Dude! Best. Trip. Ever."

House had plopped down on the sofa and was now lying on his back, spinning his cane in the air.

"Where were you?"

"Plotting," he quipped. "Which leads me back to the point. I need your help."

"House!" Wilson said in frustration. "Where have you been? You've been missing in action for two days now and you haven't answered my calls."

"What are you my mother? Do I have to report in everywhere I go?"

"You're still recovering…"

"I have a sponsor," House bit back. "I don't need you freaking out."

"You were upset the other night," he tried to explain…or justify. Sometimes it wasn't clear. "How could I not be worried? Cuddy was worried too."

House sat up quickly.

"What do you mean she was worried?"

"She's been looking for you," he answered. "She finally decided to stop lurking around all of your hideouts and ask me where you were. As if I'd tell her!"

"You didn't know," House pointed out. "And of course you'd tell her. Why was she looking for me?"

Wilson frowned and thought back over the conversation. "You know, I'm not sure," he said. "She seemed a little out-of-sorts. I told her to stop jerking you around, by the way."

House froze and stared at him.

"You did what?"

"I told her to stop jerking you around," Wilson repeated.

"She's not," House responded, a frown beginning to mar his brow.

Wilson stared at him, clearly confused by his response.

"She had sex with you and tossed you out," he said. "She's leading you on."

House gulped and his eyes became wide.

"Please tell me you did not tell her that."

"What did you want me to say?" Wilson shot back, suddenly feeling defensive and not certain why. "You were a mess the other night when you came over. She's playing with your mind and you hardly need it at this point in your…"

"You idiot!" House growled as he stood to face him. "She's not screwing with me. She's trying to make sure we don't make the same mistakes again."

Wilson was taken aback, confused.

"She had sex with you."

"There may be a God after all," he bit back sarcastically, and then pointed at him. "You better not have ruined that for me!"

"But you were so upset."

"Of course I was," House said. "Who wouldn't be?"

"But…I…She…" Wilson stammered.

"I wanted to stay with her!" House said, stating what he thought was obvious. "I want to be with her. Why is that a surprise?"

"But she hurt you."

"I hurt her."

"She's leading you on."

"We're dealing with the consequences of my insanity."

"You never deal with consequences."

"Thus the 'upset' part."

Wilson shook his head to clear it, trying to digest the information only to realize that for all the years of history and experience between them, he didn't understand the relationship between his two best friends at all.

"I don't know what to say," he mumbled. "I was trying to protect you. I was trying to help."

"So is she," he said, and Wilson frowned in puzzlement.

"I'm married, you moron," House said. "To an illegal alien. And if you think they're not watching me, you're dumber than you look. And in that tie, you look ridiculous."

House leaned heavily on his cane as he went on to explain. "If I hook up with Cuddy right now it will be a clear indication my marriage is a fraud and that means prison tats and nervous showers are in my future."

Wilson was shell-shocked.

"Yeah," House affirmed his reaction. "Duh!"

He moved from the sofa and started to pace.

"We started it all wrong the last time," House said.

"But you were happy."

House grimaced.

"This why your marriages never work," he stated. Wilson sneered.

"We were happy. We were also afraid, overly cautious, evasive, resentful, self-destructive and stupid! We sabotaged it from the start," House said.

"Wow," Wilson said. "Self-destructive doesn't sound like you at all."

House stopped in front of the desk and faced Wilson, a solemn and serious look on his face.

"She needs me to make this right," he said, his eyes worried and sad. "She actually still wants to be with me after all I've done...I can't screw it up this time."

Wilson felt bad for his friend. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it coming. House was in full-steam destruct mode from the moment Cuddy broke up with him. It wouldn't be so easy to fix things.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

House took a deep breath.

"Well, the hardest part is done," he said.

Wilson quirked his brow when he saw the mischievous look on his face.

"I was at a court hearing," House answered the unasked question. "It turns out admitting you were heartbroken, on the rebound and high on Vicodin to explain an illegal marriage isn't as common as you might think. Being in psychotherapy helps a bit too. It worked out well for me."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope," House said smugly. "It's done."

"What about Dominika?"

House shrugged. "It didn't work out so well for her," he said.

"She's being deported?"

"Unless she can find a way to get her work visa renewed through a valid sponsor."

"Or another husband," Wilson said, beginning to shuffle the papers on his desk.

When House didn't respond, Wilson looked up to find House staring at him agape and more than a little horrified.

"Seriously?"


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks for reading, gang! And please excuse the abundant exposition. It seemed necessary. ;-)_

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own House._

* * *

**Chapter 16**

"There aren't patient names on any of them," Sanford said as Cuddy took a closer look at the scans that lined the boardroom wall.

"This is very careless," Jonathan proclaimed. He was the most annoying board member. Always ready to complain and point the finger, but never offering any suggestions or solutions.

"I'm sure there's a logical explanation,"Cuddy replied calmly, although she couldn't think of one right off the bat. There were at least 50 scans wallpapering the boardroom wall.

"This is hardly the place to review scans," he continued. "Without a light box, you can't see any details. And since there's not an attending doctor listed on the scans either, this is all very suspect."

"Which is why they probably aren't even legitimate scans," she rebutted. "It could be just a prank, or decorations from a party. We just need to check and see who had the room last…"

"A prank!" Jonathan interrupted. "We all know who that would be. And he won't be reprimanded for his antics at all."

"Why don't we begin the meeting and not draw any conclusions until a proper investigation has been completed?" Cuddy suggested, redirecting the board from his accusations and her from the agitation building inside.

"Great idea," Sanford agreed as he caught her eye and gave a nod of encouragement. He quickly directed the attention of the board to the agenda, and the meeting came to order. But Cuddy couldn't focus.

She wasn't in the mood for another meeting where she explained and justified every move she made. Her record spoke for itself. She wished they would just trust her management and accept updates so she didn't have to go through the same dog and pony show.

To be fair, she wasn't in the mood for much of anything. She hadn't been since she'd talked with Wilson. His words had worried her. Her relationship with House was confusing at best, and since she still hadn't been able to talk with him, she had no way of knowing if it was Wilson's interpretation or House's that painted her as "playing games with him."

She wasn't playing at all. This was very real to her, for her. The decision to take slow and steady steps with House was very important to their future, even if it was painful in the now. She was certain it was the right move, but if he didn't understand her motives it could be a stumbling block to both his recovery and their reconciliation. Him being MIA was creating havoc on her emotional stability and for the first time she was finding it difficult to find a distraction in work. All she could think about was House.

_House._

Cuddy suddenly looked up at the scans along the wall as a memory connected with the images. She immediately recognized the distinct markings.

_These are his scans._

But why were they here? What was he up to? She needed to get a closer look at them. She needed to find out what was going on with him. She needed to see him, dammit!

This meeting can't end soon enough, Cuddy thought.

Listening only in the periphery and in yet another attempt to distract herself from her thoughts, she flipped open the folder she'd brought into the meeting. She needed to review the budget numbers for the capital project to expand the pediatric wing and…

There was a file slipped into the folder and she frowned as she opened it.

_Oh my God. _

Her eyes widened as she scanned the first few lines, and quickly closed the file with more force than necessary.

It was House's file. His therapy file.

* * *

How she made it through that board meeting, she would never know. How she'd managed to keep that file closed was an even bigger mystery. She was dying to read it. The temptation was overwhelming. But it would be such a violation of privacy and she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't do it to them. He needed to be able to trust her. She needed to trust him.

So, was this a test? Was he playing some kind of game with her? It would explain the therapy file. After all, she'd been less than stellar with his secrets when she'd shared them with Lucas. But she'd explained how vulnerable and afraid she'd been. They'd moved beyond that, hadn't they? And testing her that way wouldn't explain the scans. These couldn't be two isolated events; it wasn't a coincidence that private information surrounding House was ending up in her hands.

Was someone playing games with him? Setting him up? Was someone trying to sabotage House? Was there something in those scans or in the therapy notes that would hurt him in some way?

Cuddy paced nervously. She'd asked around, but no one had seen anyone in her office. There was no indication the file came in through the mail to be inadvertently shuffled around on her desk. She should call Dr. Nolan to tell him what she'd found; she should send the therapy file back to him unread. That was the ethical thing to do. But it was House's therapy notes! Those pages could contain the answers to where he'd been the past few days. They could tell her what he was thinking and feeling. They could ease her mind and give her some direction. It could help them in their reconciliation, and that was to his benefit, right?

_You are not going to read that file!_

She walked around her desk to get an envelope from the credenza drawer. She was going to send the file back to Nolan. She was going to take care of it right now and resist any further temptation.

That was her last thought before she began to read.

"I hate myself," she muttered.

Ironically, she suddenly had no problems focusing.

It was his complete file. It began at his initial consult when he'd checked himself into Mayfield.

Cuddy gulped and felt her stomach drop. The notes on his detox where clinical, but she could read between the lines. She understood the pain he must have felt, the shame of being strapped to the bed, the humiliation as the nurses helped clean the vomit off him.

He'd talked to her a little about Mayfield, well he'd answered her questions in typical House fashion: tossing out important facts then avoiding details, making light of the profound, ignoring the overall impact. As she began to read through the transcripts, she realized how little he had actually opened up about the experience.

_Nolan: But you had been abusing Vicodin for years. Never had delusions. Never had trouble sleeping. Never had any problems other than narcissism and antisocial behavior, until two colleagues died. Your father died. Your issues run deeper than Vicodin._

_House: Well, that's not gonna cheer me up, is it?_

_Nolan: You need to be transferred to our long-term ward, started on medication, talk therapy –_

_House: Yeah, I get it. Uh, just one thing I'm getting hung up on. I can leave whenever I want. How 'bout I start with that? [He heads for the door.]_

_Nolan: You can't go back to practicing medicine._

_House: [turning slowly] I don't want to practice medicine. I've decided I want to be an astronaut._

_Nolan: Well, if you want your state astronaut's license, you're gonna need my recommendation._

_House: Is that a popular new treatment – blackmail?_

_Nolan: You need to get better._

Cuddy frowned. She hadn't realized House had been coerced into staying at Mayfield. It was so like him to accept the easy answer when it applied to him: it was the drugs causing his hallucinations and break, not a deeper emotional issue. Had his therapy been all about working the system? Biding his time until he could get out? That wouldn't surprise her given his past, and yet he had seemed truly changed and humbled when he'd returned to PPTH… even if she hadn't been inclined to trust it. What had happened?

As she read through the "Freedom Master" account, she felt tears welling in her eyes. House pretended to be cold and insensitive, but she knew he legitimately cared. She'd always known that. Even with such minimal details surrounding the account, she understood his motives and intent. It was just a careless, ill-advised move, but House had just wanted to give the kid a good experience, to let him be free to be himself for a while; he'd been trying to help. He must have been devastated by what had happened: just another traumatic event to add to the list.

She found herself devouring the transcripts, anxious to see what would be discovered behind those walls that were starting to crumble. She was disappointed to discover nothing of substance was coming out during the sessions. Nolan had kept him there under the pretense of discussing how the deaths of Amber, Kutner and his father had affected House, but they hadn't really delved into it at all. After weeks of trying to work around pretense and deflection, to chip away at those protective walls he hid behind, they'd barely even scratched the surface. In the end, it appeared a desire to connect with a woman visiting another patient in his unit seemed to be enough to encourage Nolan. She found it puzzling, and a bit disturbing.

House had told her about the woman. He'd spoken of her in an off-handed manner, which led her to believe it was more involved than he was letting on. Yet based on what she was reading, it hadn't been. They'd kissed. She suspected they had sex. It appeared he even obtained a day pass to go to her home at one point, but in the end there wasn't much substance to it. She could see from the transcripts, the woman had been married with children, and apparently didn't have much of a life if she'd spent so much time with her comatose sister-in-law.

Cuddy sighed. She probably should feel jealous. After all, she'd thought he'd hallucinated a relationship with her because he loved her, he'd wanted more of her but just couldn't allow himself submit to the feelings and give a relationship a chance. To find he'd so easily had a fling with someone else was insulting to everything they'd been through together, everything they were to each other. Yet, she found herself leaning more toward Nolan's clinical approach on the matter. It was a huge step for him to open up, to be rejected and then not shut down. She could understand why Nolan would feel House had made progress, but enough to release him? She wasn't so certain.

Cuddy remembered how tepid and uncertain House had been when he'd returned. Even he hadn't been sure of his sanity. The only saving grace in this therapy ordeal so far was that it continued on an outpatient basis. She hoped they did finally get to the root of the problem at some point. They had to at some point, right? That's why House was able to start reaching out to her again, to make small strides toward her even when Lucas had been in the picture.

If she were honest, she hoped they talked about her. It was selfish and more than a little self-centered, but she didn't care. She really needed to know what was in his head and heart.

The more she read, the more she respected Nolan. The man must have the patience of Job. Months and months of therapy and all House did was skirt issues and mock the process. It was frustrating to read, much less be an active participant. She understood what Nolan must feel. How often had she felt like she was beating her head against a brick wall when trying to break through a House defense?

Every time she was mentioned, House would divert the conversation. That is until Nolan finally zoned in on what House had meant to be an offhanded remark.

Cuddy sat up straighter in her chair. It was the book. Nolan had made the connection between her and her grandfather's book. She felt the butterflies in her stomach. It was all about her. So much of what he felt was tied to her. So much of what he wanted and needed was tied to her.

_That's why he gave me the book._

He'd realized it too. He'd given her the gift in spite of the "special occasion" being devastating to his hopes and dreams. Had it been a last ditch effort to get her to understand? Or had it been his way of finally letting go? Or cutting the connection that had held them together for so many years?

She couldn't believe he'd walked out of therapy.

Then the crane collapsed, he'd relived his past, the patient had died…and she'd found him on the bathroom floor ready to relapse.

What the hell? What a perfect storm! He quit therapy and she "saved" him.

Cuddy had known they'd started out on a bad foot, but she had actually thought he was further along in his soul searching. She'd believed he'd gone deeper into his issues, but reading this she could see the therapy had actually been useless. Other than being able to admit what he wanted, he was no more ready for a relationship than before he'd gone to Mayfield. Ugh! She had come to his apartment that fateful night to give them a chance, but he'd accepted it as a solution to all of his problems. He'd used it as an escape.

She was disappointed. It was a rude awakening to discover just how weak their foundation had been. Their timing really sucked.

He obviously did return to therapy. When? What had finally triggered it? Did he finally open up or were they still dancing around the issue?

With increasing curiosity, she turned the page. As she read through the initial notes, her eyes widened and she swallowed hard.

_Nolan: This is a surprise. _

_House: That's me, unpredictable._

_Nolan: You suddenly have a need for a faith healer?_

_House: I have a need for answers._

_Nolan: And you believe I have them?_

_House: Of course not. But you do have a way of guiding me to find the answers. Even when it's proving you're a fraud._

_Nolan: So you're returning to therapy because you believe it will help you find answers?_

_House: Who says I'm returning to therapy?_

_Nolan: You're here._

_House: Maybe I missed you._

_Nolan: Maybe your world has crashed around you again and you realize you shouldn't have left before finding answers in the first place. _

_House: I don't need therapy to find answers. I just need a white board and a ball._

_Nolan: Then you should have gone to a store and bought them instead of paying that co-payment._

_House: Sometimes I need a friend to bounce ideas off._

_Nolan: And you generally pay your friends._

_House: I have been known to do just that._

_Nolan: You found that to be successful?_

_House: Last one bet he'd get to Cuddy first (pause) and he did._

_Nolan: You're ready to talk about Dr. Cuddy?_

_House: I really shouldn't, seeing as how I'm married now._

_Nolan: You're married?_

_House: As of today._

_Nolan: You're coming to see me on your wedding night?_

_House: You are that good._

_Nolan: Is that why you've been drinking? _

_House: Too many toasts._

_Nolan: You married Dr. Cuddy? (Pause) House? (Pause) House, tell me what's happening._

_House: I screwed up. She was my only chance at happiness and I screwed it up._

_Nolan: What did you screw up?_

_House: I couldn't be there for her so she dumped me. And she didn't stop the wedding so now I'm married and I'm back on vicodin and… (silence)_

_Nolan: House, how many vicodin have you taken? House. (shuffling sounds) Nurse!_

Cuddy gasped in horror. This was not what she expected.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you all of your continued support and for even taking the time to read this story. Comments are not just welcome, they are needed. ;-)_

_Disclaimer: I stake no claim on House...though I would if given the chance._

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Cuddy couldn't believe what she had read.

House had passed out. His blood alcohol concentration had been at a dangerous .17, according to Nolan's notes, and his Vicodin levels were off the charts. It was a miracle House had even made it to Mayfield without killing himself or someone else.

Nolan had kept him in the clinic over the weekend and spent the two days trying to break through the walls House had managed to reinforce in his unconscious state. As often as Nolan tried to direct the conversation back to his admission that he'd screwed up, to their break-up, to his marriage, House would dance around every topic, starting inane arguments to confuse and deflect. Nolan finally concentrated on the relapse.

_House: I need the pills._

_Nolan: You didn't need Vicodin for almost two years. _

_House: Now I have more pain._

_Nolan: You have more emotional pain, not…_

_House: Pain is pain! Depression hurts, you know?_

_Nolan: So you admit you're depressed._

_House: Oh, here we go._

_Nolan: It's not uncommon to be depressed after a break-up, House._

_House: It's not uncommon to have pain when you're tied down, chest cracked open, and your heart flogged beyond recovery to face certain death alone as you slowly hemorrhage._

_Nolan: You felt vulnerable? Powerless?_

_House: Perhaps you don't get metaphors. Should I talk slower?_

_Nolan: You said you were tied down. I'm guessing that wasn't literally the case._

_House: Well, not this time._

_Nolan: Ahh, so this time bondage wasn't so fun?_

_House: Usually we…Hey, I see what you did there! You're doing your psycho thing._

_Nolan: Isn't that why you came to see me?_

_House: I was drunk._

_Nolan: What do you want, House?_

_House: Cleavage shots at Willie's, free fries with the bacon burger and peace on earth._

_Nolan: Were you trying to kill yourself?_

_House: Don't even bother going there. I just passed out. It was nothing. You're not going to use that "danger to himself and others" bullshit to lock me up in Mayfield._

_Nolan: No, I won't. I don't think you need to be here._

_House: What?_

_Nolan: House, you've gone through a lot this past year. You've experienced success and failure. You've gone through a painful experience and had a setback. This is not about condemning you or punishing you. It's about you getting back on track._

_House: That track is a dead end road. There's no need to waste your time or mine. I'm not going through detox again. I prefer the path of misery and self-destruction. It hurt less._

Cuddy considered what she'd read so far as she drove home for the evening.

Nolan had been unable to change his mind about detoxing. He'd also been unsuccessful at convincing House to join an outpatient program with a support group or accept a sponsor. He did agree to "have pity on the faith healer" and return for a follow-up session.

It wasn't a surprise. She'd watched him self-destructing for months, continuing to pop pills like mints, trying experimental drugs, performing surgery on his leg…

She shook her head at the memories. She didn't want to remember that night she'd found him in a tub of his own blood. She should have known something was wrong then, but she'd been in her own downward spiral for months. He'd thought she was cold and unmoved; she'd been dangerously close to losing it every day. She'd thought if they'd just talk, if he'd talk about his feelings and really listen to what she was feeling they could find a way through the pain. What an idiot.

"Mommy!" Rachel ran to meet her at the door.

Cuddy laughed as her daughter grabbed her hand and pulled her into the living room. "Hey," she said. "Hold up, sweetie. I need to put my bag down."

"Look at what I got!" Rachel said excitedly. "Look! Look!"

"We be screamin' on his flintlock like a blubbery lad," she heard House's voice and quickly turned around searching for him.

"Howse made me video," Rachel squealed.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy," Marina said. "She's been wound up since Dr. House dropped by."

"House was here?"

"Yes," Marina's eyes widened with anxiety. "Should I not have let him in? I thought you had…"

"No, it's fine," Cuddy assured her. "I just didn't expect him." Mainly because she hadn't seen or heard from him for days!

"I'm yer bilge rat, an' yer me wench," House continued to read the pirate story on the TV screen. Rachel giggled and hopped around the excitedly, repeating the funny lines and talking back to the screen as if House were here with her.

"He wasn't here for long," Marina explained. "He just talked to Rachel a few minutes and gave her the DVD."

"He didn't leave a note, or a message?" Cuddy frowned, puzzled and disappointed.

"He just asked me to give you this," she answered and handed Cuddy a small token. "He talked with Rachel, took a phone call back in your bedroom, drank a glass of water and then left."

Cuddy assured Marina everything was fine and said her goodbyes, trying not to make it obvious that she was rushing her out the door.

She stared down at the token in her hand. It was a Narcotics Anonymous Medallion, a symbol of success and sobriety. It was a message to her of sincerity and hope.

Cuddy gripped it tightly in her hand as she walked toward the bedroom to change her clothes. Rachel would be entertained for quite some time with that video, so she had a few minutes to work through this current puzzle.

It was clear House was up to something. But what? She didn't see anything askew in the bedroom, which was surprisingly disappointing. For a moment she'd been convinced he'd left another "gift" of some kind for her, like the scans in the boardroom and files in her office. But now, finding the room empty, she was back to wondering if he'd left those items at all. Maybe it was a coincidence that he'd shown up with such a special gift for Rachel and left his NA medallion for her on the same day she'd received his therapy file. Maybe she'd made the right assumption earlier: he was being set up. Or maybe she was. Whatever was going on, it was clear House still did not want to see her, and that stung.

Cuddy froze just inside the bathroom door.

It was the ten toothbrushes on her vanity that caught her attention. They were neatly sitting on the vanity in a decorative cup.

She glimpsed the amused smirk on her face in the mirror just before something else in the reflection caught her eye: a dark circle on the toilet seat cover. Frowning, she turned to take a closer look.

_A sensor._

Cuddy lifted the seat cover, stepped to the side and watched as it lowered back into place.

It was an automatic toilet seat. Cuddy chuckled. House had installed an automatic toilet seat! She couldn't stop the laughter as a sense of joy rushed through her.

She smiled as she made her way to the kitchen. He wasn't avoiding her. He was however, playing a game. He was leaving her clues and she would need to solve the puzzle of what he was trying to tell her.

_Speaking of clues…_

Cuddy removed the envelope that was attached to the refrigerator door, amused that he'd used the "H" of Rachel's letter magnets. He was a stickler for details when it came to his games.

"Vouchers," she said aloud as she flipped removed the contents of the envelope.

There were vouchers to have the trash taken out, the house cleaned, and for babysitting, but also for more intimate things like massages, bubble baths and fantasy fulfillment.

So this was his plan!

It was all starting to make sense. House wasn't avoiding her! He was doing what she asked. He was taking care of things, solving problems. Granted, these were stupid issues that she'd made way too much of while they were together, but he was ensuring these little annoyances wouldn't become irreconcilable differences. He was building a foundation of simple "fixes" in response to the list of issues that seemed to be keeping them apart.

But House didn't do things half-way. He wasn't just chipping away at the small stuff, he was addressing the greater challenges. He'd begun with his health, reassuring her through the scans that his recovery and prognosis were good, and he'd followed up with his therapy file, a glimpse into his deepest secrets and darkest fears.

Cuddy instinctively knew there were answers in those pages far beyond the surface talk she'd read thus far. There was something in those transcripts House wanted her to know, something that needed to be revealed. Was it something in his past? Something he'd done? Experienced? Was it something he was feeling? Something he couldn't express?

She couldn't wait to get through dinner and get Rachel in the bed. She had some reading to do.


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: I don't own House, but I do need therapy as a result of the show._

* * *

**Chapter 18**

_Nolan: So your plan is to detox and return to counseling. And you're doing this for Dr. Cuddy._

She was curled up in bed, propped against the headboard, reading House's therapy file. His return visit had continued to be an effort in patience as he continued to dodge issues and mock Nolan's every effort to help him. It had lasted only one session before he'd walked away again, declaring he'd found the way to resolve his problems. Cuddy could tell from the date on the transcript that it was around the time he'd begun taking the experimental drug. He'd been so desperate to stop the pain; so certain it was the source of all his problems. He'd only created a bigger problem.

Now he'd returned, still weak from surgery, but ready to make some changes.

_House: Not sure you're on your game today, Doc. I just told you about my experimental drug use and the resulting brain tumors. Never mentioned Cuddy._

_Nolan. You never do, and yet she's always there, isn't she?_

Cuddy tensed as she read the words. It was the same for her. House was always there.

_House: She's good, but she's not omnipotent. Although, sex with her is a religious experience._

_Nolan: I suggest you find another clinic and counselor. I can make a recommendation or you can find one on your own, but there's no reason for us to continue this session._

_House: What? You're kicking me out?_

_Nolan: I don't believe we should be wasting each other's time._

_House: Pretty sure the check I just wrote for the session isn't a waste of your time._

_Nolan: Take your check and leave._

_House: You're serious?_

_Nolan: You incessantly trivialize your actions, avoid every topic directly related to your real issues, and you use therapy as a game, a way to make others believe you're trying to fix yourself when you're just pretending to care. You're a coward and a fraud, and you're not serious about making changes in your life, just in creating new masks to hide behind so that you can continue to manipulate the people around you. As foreign as the concept is for you, House, I actually care about my patients and want to help them. It's not a game. You'd be better served with someone who is in it only for the money._

_silence; shuffling sounds_

Cuddy had to hand it to whoever transcribed Nolan's recordings. The addition of sound notations made it read like a script, easy to envision the scene being played out in the office. She could almost picture House nervously staring at Nolan, tapping his cane against the floor nervously as he sought to regain control of the situation.

_House: I need help._

_Nolan: Yes, you do._

_House: You're just going to dump me? Just like that? What about 'do no harm'?_

_Nolan: I believed you once before, House: when your carelessness almost killed another patient. Remember that? You said you needed help then too._

_House: And I stayed. I did everything you said!_

_Nolan: Until it got too tough; until we finally got to your feelings about Dr. Cuddy. Then you bolted. She was marrying someone else, and you hadn't found happiness, so that made me a faith healer. _

_House: I must have been right. I did find happiness on my own._

_Nolan: Really? Seems like to me you found another drug, just another high that would keep you from dealing with your problems. And when that blew up in your face, you went searching for another drug. This one, an experimental drug that almost killed you. You're searching for temporary highs. You keep grasping at the illusion of happiness because you're too afraid to deal with what really makes you miserable. _

_House: Trying to deal with my pain doesn't…_

_Nolan: Your leg pain isn't what makes you miserable, House. You make you miserable. But you're too much of a coward to admit that, much less dig into the roots of it. You'd rather use your leg as an excuse. You don't want to get better. And I don't want to waste my time playing games with you while you self-destruct. You need to find another therapist._

_House: I don't want another therapist._

_Nolan: Why?_

_Pause._

_Nolan: Goodbye, House._

_House: Because I trust you. I can't go to another therapist. I can't start over with someone else. I need to be with someone I trust, someone who won't put up with my shit._

_Nolan: Is that what makes a person trustworthy for you? Someone who doesn't take your shit?_

_House: It's a start._

_Nolan: What else? What else makes you trust someone?_

_House: Does this mean you're still my therapist?_

_Nolan: You're not the only one who needs to be able to trust. _

_House: You were never going to kick me out._

_Nolan: You're sure about that?_

_House: Strategic move. Perfectly executed, I might add. Well played._

_Nolan: You think I'm playing a game?_

_House: Everyone plays games. Some just play it better. _

_Nolan: Okay. I get it. You admire those who play the game well, who force you to think and move. So what do you want, House? Why are you here? _

_House: I need help._

_Nolan: With what? _

_Pause_

_Nolan: It's your move. You going to keep shuffling the pawns or actually go for a winning move?_

_House: I want to stop hurting the people I love. I want to stop hurting myself._

Cuddy was mesmerized. She couldn't put the pages down as she devoured the notes. It wasn't just that Nolan was standing so firm, unwilling to let House continue to dance around his therapy; it was the awkward willingness House appeared to reflect as he began to answer questions more openly.

As he talked about their relationship, Cuddy was reminded again of how rigid she'd been with him, how restrictive and almost tyrannical she'd been at times. She'd said she didn't want him to change and then little by little changed all the rules. It had been impossible for him, and yet he'd tried in his own way to make it work. He'd been totally committed to their relationship. She wasn't so sure she could say the same, and that was her greatest shame. At the first bump in their road, she'd begun to approach every day with caution, anticipating the worst and attempting to minimize damage through manipulation and control. As easy as it had been to point out all his faults and failures, she was equally to blame for the ultimate demise of their relationship. Even now, she was demanding he fix things, he make the concessions and the changes. What was she doing?

_Nolan: Why wouldn't you be enough?_

_House: I thought she was dying. I couldn't handle it._

_Nolan: I understand that. She's your world and facing the idea of her dying was crippling to you. You and I both know that is not an uncommon reaction for families facing the death of a loved one. But you're not just saying you were scared. You said 'I couldn't be what she needed'. What does that mean?_

_House: I'm not exactly the comforting type._

_Nolan: That's crap. You may be a bit unorthodox in your approach and certainly unconventional, but you are quite capable of being comforting. You have an ability to help people cut through pretense and responsibility, to forget expectations and propriety, and just feel. That truth you bring comes without judgment or condemnation. There is a safety in that. It seems to me that Dr. Cuddy sees that in you, that's why she's been your professional advocate for so many years. But I think that may be what she saw in that rubble of that crane collapse as well. It wasn't just the heroism of you reliving the past and helping the girl through the ordeal. It was your ability to push everything aside and reside in the truth and the emotions of the moment. _

_House: There's a slight problem with your logic. She said everything I do is to avoid pain – drugs, sarcasm, keeping everybody at arm's length – it's so no one can hurt me. I'm the king of emotional avoidance._

_Nolan: Is that true?_

_House: You're the one with the answers here. You tell me._

_Nolan: According to you, you're always in pain._

_House: So you think she's wrong?_

_Nolan: I want to know what you think._

_House: I think I hate this psycho-babble!_

_Nolan: Is it possible both these truths co-exist in you?_

_House: You're not the first to suggest the Jekyll and Hyde diagnosis._

_Nolan: I'm simply suggesting you avoid the unfamiliar emotions, but feel more comfortable sharing with others the more familiar pain. _

_House: So since I'm not comfortable dying, I couldn't be there with Cuddy when she thought she was. Well done. So glad we had this chance to delve so deep into my secret psyche._

_Nolan: You want to stop hurting others and you want to stop hurting yourself. You have intimate knowledge of pain, don't you?_

_House: I have a missing muscle in my thigh. What do you think?_

_Nolan: It goes beyond that. Tell me your earliest memory of pain._

_House: You mean when I feel down and got a boo-boo. My Band-Aid didn't have pictures and I've been scarred ever since._

_Pause_

_House: I was a kid. I'm sure the first time I experienced pain was not much different than when Rachel did._

_Nolan: What about Rachel? You've mentioned her several times. Tell me about her._

_House: What's to tell? She's Cuddy's spawn. _

_Nolan: She's more than that. You were worried about her._

_House: She could have lost her mom. _

_Nolan: That bothered you._

_House: Of course. She's a good kid. She didn't deserve that pain. She didn't deserve that loss._

_Nolan: But you did?_

_pause_

_Nolan: What made you start believing you don't deserve to be happy?_

_House: You're kinda jumping all over the place here, Doc. You getting tired? Time to end our session for the day?_

_Nolan: I don't have any appointments after you. I'm here for as long as it takes. So tell me about that childhood pain that convinced you that happiness would never be available to you._

_House: You're so convinced there was one?_

_Nolan: Convince me there wasn't._

_House: There's nothing to tell. What's your next angle?_

_Nolan: Was it your father?_

_House: He wasn't my biological father._

_Nolan: Is that significant?_

_Pause_

_Nolan: Did he physically hurt you?_

_House: You're so sure of yourself._

_Nolan: And you're about to jump out of your skin. Why not get it out, House? Once and for all, let it all out. _

_House: Last time I did that, I ran a car into Cuddy's dining room._

_Nolan: You're afraid you'll become violent again?_

_House: I'm not violent._

_Nolan: You're sure about that? You did it once. How can you be sure you won't do something like that again?_

_House: Those were the tumors. _

_Nolan: At least you hope so._

_House: I would never hurt Cuddy or Rachel!_

_Nolan: But you're here because you don't want to hurt the people you love anymore._

_House: Dammit! You're twisting my words._

_Nolan: Are you like your father, House? Is that why you're afraid? _

_House: I'm not afraid._

_Nolan: Did he resent that he wasn't your biological father? Did he punish you for it? _

_House: This is bullshit! I'm outta here!_

_Nolan: So you're going to keep punishing Rachel and Cuddy? _

_House: I'm not punishing them._

_Nolan: Are you going to keep punishing yourself?_

_House: I didn't do anything wrong!_

_Nolan: Then why did he hurt you?_

_House: Because there's something fundamentally wrong with me! Because I need to be fixed!_

Her hands trembled, and her vision blurred at the sudden breakthrough revelation.

Cuddy gripped the pages to her chest and wept.


	19. Chapter 19

_This may be a bit rough to read for some of you romantics, but 'be not afraid'. This is going somewhere - I think :-) - and it really is more romantic than tragic. _

_Thank you for all of the comments and reviews. They are very motivating. _

_Oh, and to answer some of the questions: It's not about blaming parents or the past, or even Stacy or Cuddy. It's about life and history and how it does mold us, either through submission or resistance. Our experiences affect us. _

_This is also not about what House should or shouldn't do. He doesn't "have" to do anything. In this case, he chooses to do this for a reason that suits his end goal. It's about him, as it should be. _

_It's a story. One of many... Thank you for reading._**  
**

_Disclaimer: I am not connected with the show or the character of House. *weeps*_**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

_Because there's something fundamentally wrong with me! Because I need to be fixed!_

It was as if those words resounded in Cuddy's mind in a repeating loop. Was that how he felt?

Of course it was. Hadn't he said as much when he'd admitted he was "the most screwed up person in the world"? He had even asked her if she thought he could fix himself. Cuddy grimaced as she remembered saying "I don't know."

This idea of something being fundamentally wrong with him went far beyond a tendency toward misanthropy and addiction, or even the pain and scaring from the infarction. This was a deep and abiding, concealed shame that tormented him. This was his misery.

Cuddy continued to read, digest and analyze each conversation, marveling at Nolan's patience as he navigated the intentionally muddled and distracting conversation.

_House: My childhood was hardly the worst any kid's had. I can't exactly blame all my problems on my parents. Besides, why bother? The past is the past. _

_Nolan: You're right; there's no reason to dwell on the past. But taking an honest look at your experiences can help to understand what made you who you are so you can more easily address what is happening in the present. Just like taking a medical history helps you understand and diagnose your patients. _

_House: Histories are useless. Everybody lies. I've haven't met a patient I didn't have to weed through their lies to get to the truth._

_Nolan: And you're all about truth._

_House: Truth is real. It's not always pretty, but it's something you can deal with._

_Nolan: Good. Then there's no reason you can't tell me the truth about your childhood. Tell me about your father._

_House: Cheap shot. Too bad for you, there's nothing to tell. He was a Marine. The few and The Proud. Semper Fi Mac, and all that shit. That's it. That's all there was to him._

_Nolan: He was an officer?_

_House: A marine pilot._

_Nolan: You moved a lot?_

_House: Yeah. Every couple of years._

_Nolan: That must have been tough. _

_House: Oh, yes. It was impossible for me to have friends, which explains why I'm a self-absorbed loner who can't function in relationships. Problems solved. You really are good._

_Nolan: Sit down, House. Sit down and tell me about your father. _

_House: There's nothing to tell. There's absolutely nothing of interest here. He was just a marine. He liked structure and discipline. And truth. That may be the only thing we had in common._

_Nolan: Was he the disciplinarian?_

_House: He didn't beat me. You can stop digging._

_Nolan: Then what did he do? What was it like having John House as a father?_

_House: Boot camp. It was like boot camp, okay? There was his way of doing things and the wrong way. You fall in line with his plan or you pay the consequences._

_Nolan: What kind of consequences?_

_House: Surely you've seen Full Metal Jacket? Tribe? Officer and a Gentleman? Give 'em 12 weeks and they'll make you a man._

_Nolan: Break you down to build you back up?_

_House: Exactly._

_Nolan: Your father broke you?_

_House: Oh, God. I didn't say that._

_Nolan: You said living with him was like boot camp. You were his son, his child. It sounds counterproductive to break something that hasn't even been formed._

_House: Build it right from the start and there's no need to tear it apart and start again later._

_Nolan: Is that your belief or are you quoting your father?_

_House: What do you think?_

_Nolan: I want you to tell me. _

_House: It worked. I worked hard at keeping his rules when he was around._

_Nolan: But not when he wasn't?_

_House: I wasn't always this paragon of virtue._

Nolan wouldn't let him divert the conversation. He kept pushing and prodding until House provided specifics. At first, House minimized it, suggesting that sleeping in the yard was like camping on a school night. It wasn't so easy to find humor in the other details: being locked in closets, water survival exercises, ice baths... When he started explaining a weekend of punishment that simulated what is known as "The Crucible" in the Marine Corps, Cuddy sat horrified. How could a parent justify this? He was just a child!

She imagined House as an impetuous little boy, too curious for his own good and inclined to break the rules to find answers, but that would hardly merit this brand discipline. And yet House was almost defending him. In fact, he appeared to be quite adept at making excuses for his father and maintaining that John House had not abused him.

_Nolan: So you see the merit in his approach? You plan to treat Rachel the same way._

_House: I'm not Rachel's father. I don't have to worry about discipline._

_Nolan: I thought you were serious about Dr. Cuddy._

_House: I am. _

_Nolan: But you don't think you'll be a father figure to her daughter?_

_House: No. That's never been in Cuddy's plan._

_Nolan: Really? From what you've told me about Dr. Cuddy, I would have thought she'd spend a lot of time considering the ramifications of being in a relationship and what that would mean for her daughter. I would think she'd be very aware that Rachel would look to the man in her life as a father figure._

_House: She's a great mom. She thinks of everything._

_Nolan: But you don't think she's considered you as a father?_

_House: Of course she did. And she tossed it aside. She didn't want my sperm when she tried in-vitro, and when she adopted she didn't want me connected with her kid._

_Nolan: She told you that?_

_House: It doesn't matter. Cuddy and I are fine. Our family works. She's the mom and I'm the friend. It's fine._

Cuddy felt her heart warm as he referred to them as "family," but found herself frowning at his overall idea of what she considered to be his role.

_Nolan: Answer the question, House. Did she tell you she didn't want you to be a part of her child's life?_

_House: No. But it's why she jumped into a relationship with Lucas instead of giving me a chance. She needed someone who didn't turn to drugs and end up in a loony-bin._

_Nolan: But she did give you a chance. _

_House: Eventually. But she still didn't want me in the kid's life. It was weeks before I was even allowed to meet her._

_Nolan: That bothered you?_

_House: No. Yes. God, why are you making a big deal out of this?_

_Nolan: You brought it up. Now tell me why it bothered you._

_House: Because it was something she was keeping from me. I shouldn't be banned from the important things in her life._

_Nolan: How does she feel about that?_

_House: I'm pretty sure my obsession with her is a bit of a turn on._

_Nolan: You're obsessed with her?_

_House: You couldn't tell? _

_Nolan: We'll come back to that. What was your role in Rachel's life when you and Cuddy were together?_

House didn't hesitate to talk about his time with Rachel; he outlined memory after memory.

Cuddy was shocked to learn his reluctance to babysit in the beginning hadn't been about Rachel (or children in general) at all, but about his fear of failing her, of providing evidence that she'd made a mistake in choosing him. She laughed as he told the story of Rachel swallowing the dime, resulting in mayhem as he sought to ensure it didn't cause any damage. He was overly dramatic as he explained how he'd thought Rachel was dumb at first, and how he was left with no choice but to train her.

"It was her only shot at getting in that school!"

Cuddy laughed, picturing him rolling his eyes and pacing about the room as he spoke.

Then his attitude seemed to change. His words seemed to reflect a fondness for Rachel…perhaps even pride in the little girl. She'd never noticed it. She was mesmerized.

Cuddy couldn't believe all the things they'd done together, the secrets they'd kept. Apparently he'd taught Rachel to climb the monkey bars, aim a squirt gun and make spit balls. She had always imagined him focused on his Gameboy while she played in the park, but he had been interactive, actually playing with her. He'd even taken her to the creek and tried to teach her about tadpoles, amoebas, shoals and sandbars. He begrudgingly admitted she wasn't quite ready for that advanced training.

"Although she did like the word 'Pollywog'," he said. "It was a start."

As she read story after story of their late night cartoon viewings, pillow-fort construction and finger painting, Cuddy began to understand the abandonment issues Rachel had displayed after she'd split with House. She wondered if the same loss hadn't contributed to his extreme "acting out" as well. She hadn't just broken his heart; she'd ripped House from his family, his home.

_Nolan: You spent a lot of time with her._

_House: Time with the spawn equals gratuitous sex. And by that, I mean…_

_Nolan: Why do you do that? Why do you insist on reducing your feelings to selfishness and sexual gratification? _

_House: It was a joke._

_Nolan: Do you talk that way to Dr. Cuddy? Objectify her? Treat her like a bartering whore?_

_House: She's no whore._

_Nolan: You talk like everything you do is just payment for sexual services. _

_House: You're out of line, Nolan._

_Nolan: Why? That kind of talk makes you angry? You don't like it?_

_House: Fuck you!_

_Nolan: Tell me why you're angry._

_House: You disrespect my girlfriend and you wonder why I'm angry?_

_Nolan: That matters?_

_House: Of course it matters. What the hell kind of game are you playing?_

_Nolan: You are clearly committed to Dr. Cuddy, and you have very strong feelings for both her and her daughter. Yet, you discount it with your words. I'm wondering why?_

_House: Words don't matter._

_Nolan: Don't they? You don't think these types of disparaging words hurt Dr. Cuddy?_

_House: She knows how I feel._

_Nolan: How?_

_House: Because she knows me. _

_Nolan: Do you tell her you love her?_

_House: Yeah, I've told her._

_Nolan: Told her? Once? Twice? _

_House: What the hell does it matter? _

_Nolan: Why is it so hard for you to admit your feelings for her?_

_House: It's not!_

_Nolan: Then tell me._

_Pause_

_Nolan: What are you afraid of?_

_House: I'm not afr... She's the love of my life, okay? She's the woman of my dreams. _

_Nolan: Have you told her that?_

_House: What is it with you? Why are you so hung up on me telling Cuddy how I feel?_

_Nolan: Why are you so determined not to say it? What is it that keeps you from sharing your heart?_

_House: I told you. Words don't matter._

_Nolan: Words help us communicate what we're feeling, what's in our hearts and minds. That matters._

_House: Words are sprinkles, decorations on a cake. Actions prove what's in our heart and mind. It's what we do that provides the real substance._

_Nolan: Your actions prove you love her? That you love Rachel?_

_House: It doesn't matter if I love them. Love is just a feeling, an emotion that comes and goes with moods and circumstance. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and makes you feel happy for a while; it gives you hope, but it's not what sustains a relationship. _

_Nolan: You don't think love makes a difference?_

_House: What? You think love is the guiding force? The thing that keeps you faithful? Makes you do the right thing? Makes you treat people better? Love doesn't stop a woman from cheating on her husband, or a man from treating his kid like shit. You can love someone and still hurt them. You can neglect them, and abuse them; you can piss all over their dreams and mock their goals and aspirations. You can love someone and still ignore their wishes. You can still cut open their leg and leave them handicap. You can love someone and still not see them, not hear their cries for help, or know who they really are. You can love someone and still walk away when they need you the most. Love doesn't matter!_

Cuddy flinched and asked the same question as Nolan.

_Nolan: What does matter, House?_

_House: Respect._


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you for all of the reviews and for continuing to read this journey. :-)_

_Disclaimer: I'm not connected with the television show._

* * *

Chapter 20

He was inspired by a Baraku, one of the untouchables of society. In Japan, they were considered impure, tainted by death or carrying stigmas of defilement. They were outcasts. She knew his story, and yet as House told it to Nolan it became more powerful in the context of his childhood, his past.

It was a beautifully bittersweet story. Cuddy imagined the brilliant child, struggling to make friends in yet another strange country and carrying the burden of belief that even his own father couldn't find the value in him. He would have been struggling to find his place, fighting for his identity. It wasn't a surprise he would find a connection with this rejected tribe or that he could admire the ability to overcome such limitations to become respected…needed.

Need. It was an integral part of House that dramatically affected his relationships. In fact, his neediness had been an ongoing source of jokes and mocking, sometimes in fun, but often in frustration. To be honest, she'd been troubled at first by the co-dependence his need represented, but she'd come to see there was a much deeper, rhythmic chord at play. The need was a two-way street and it wasn't built on this Baraku-esque approach. The people in his life needed him for more than his medical knowledge and brilliant mind. They needed him, the friend, and the man. He kept them grounded and honest; he brought levity and truth. He gave them all something that was missing in their messed up worlds, and let's face it everyone House brought into his close circle was screwed up or tortured in some way or another. It seemed he unconsciously sought out that need in others, and yet he never felt it, never seemed to recognize the important role he played in their life.

_Nolan: So as long as the Baraku was needed, he had a place._

_House: His genes and job didn't matter. The way he looked and acted didn't matter either. It only mattered that he had the answers. In the end, he had the power. _

_Nolan: That must have been appealing to a young child. Did it make him happy?_

_House: What?_

_Nolan: The Baraku. Was he happy?_

_*Pause*_

_House: I don't know._

Cuddy imagined the frown on his face as House considered the question. He knew power. He had it, used it to his benefit; he thrived on it. She knew it too. She had firsthand experience on the positive and negative aspects of power, the loneliness and solitude that accompanied such a position. What the young boy had admired in the Baraku's power was just an illusion. The gift of acceptance was only temporary, and power carried as many curses as blessings.

How quickly a question can shift our understanding of the beliefs we've held. She was fascinated as Nolan skillfully steered the conversation. They began to debate the merits of power in the workplace and society. It was just the kind of conversation House could sink his teeth into, the kind of dilemma he could talk about for hours and distract from the real issue. Nolan wasn't going to allow that for long.

_Nolan: Does Dr. Cuddy hold the power in your relationship?_

_House: She's the boss. She holds the power over everyone._

_Nolan: I'm not talking about at work; I'm talking about your relationship with Dr. Cuddy._

_House: She's been known to enjoy playing the dominatrix now and then, but…_

_Nolan: So you feel emasculated?_

Cuddy jerked, stunned by the question.

_House: Huh? I never said…_

_Nolan: No, you didn't say anything. And you are not planning to say anything, which is why you're avoiding the issue and objectifying the woman you love._

Cuddy felt her muscles tense as she wondered where this questioning was leading.

_Nolan: House?_

_House: All women have the power in heterosexual relationships. They just don't always know it._

_Nolan: You want to make this another philosophical conversation or do you want to make this session matter?_

_House: As if these sessions ever matter! They're useless. We can talk about my past, cry over my childhood and whine about how sad life is but it doesn't change anything. Shit happens. It's done. Move on._

_Nolan: Then move on. Dr. Cuddy left you. Get over it. Get on with your life._

_*shuffling noises*_

_House: She has the power. _

_Nolan: What was that?_

_House: She has the power. Okay? Is that what you want me to say? She controls everything. I thought I had it together, thought we were making progress. I thought I'd made my feelings clear and then BAM! I'm cut to pieces again._

Cuddy didn't miss the reference. But was he really comparing their relationship to Stacey's betrayal when he'd had the infarction?

Nolan poked and prodded until he finally got House to open up. He explained how she'd followed him, concerned for his health after he'd crashed into her home. He talked about the brain surgery, how she'd been there for him and he'd believed they were reconnecting. He told Nolan he'd detoxed and come back to PPTH clean, ready to make a new start with her. Then he told him about the night of the fundraiser, how they had danced and he'd had a moment of hope before it all came crashing down on him. Nolan didn't let him skim over any detail, stopping him from time to time to ask questions and clarify points. He was especially persistent in pushing House to express what he was feeling every step of the way.

_Nolan: You had sex in her office?_

_House: Don't bother asking for details, I don't kiss and tell._

_Nolan: What happened in the office, House?_

_House: You can't be serious. What, you want to know the position? If it was hot? Of course it was; it's sex with Cuddy._

_Nolan: Don't bother going down that route. I'm not going to be distracted. Something happened in that office beyond sex. What?_

_House: Nothing happened. We just had sex._

_Nolan: Okay. It's your choice. You can tell me now, or in the next session. Or you can keep pretending and waste our time. It's up to you._

House finally told him. He was very detailed about the argument, but tried to skim over the sex. It didn't work. As seemed to be the case with him, Nolan noticed the tiny nuances and the unusual wording; he insisted House explain further. Cuddy blushed as he recalled how she'd gone down on him, how she'd sought relief…how disconnected and angry she'd been.

_Nolan: How did that make you feel?_

_House: She zipped up and left me again. I'd say that pretty much sucks...pun intended.  
_

_Nolan: You're telling me the resolution. I want to know how you felt during the sex._

_House: I'll never complain about sex with Cuddy._

_Nolan: She was angry._

_House: Angry sex is good sex._

_Nolan: She was hurt._

_House Comforting sex is good sex. _

_*Silence*_

_Nolan: You empathized with her. You understood the pain and anger._

_House: I'm well acquainted with those feelings._

_Nolan: So you knew what she needed?_

_House: I guess._

_Nolan: And you were willing to ignore your own hurt to allow her to work through it._

_House: Sometimes the best way to get what you want is to be willing to lose a battle._

_Nolan: So this wasn't you caring for the woman you love, it was a strategic move. Just part of the game?_

_House: We're not playing a game. _

_Nolan: What is it?_

_House: It was just a release. She'd been holding it all in for a long time. A fissure opened and she just needed to let it out._

_Nolan: And you let her take it out on you._

_House: What's wrong with that? It's not as if she doesn't do the same thing for me. She was with me; we got through it together._

_Nolan: That matters to you? That you worked through it together?_

_House: Of course it does. I need her._

_Nolan: You need her?_

_House: Yes. I need her. Okay? You've made your point._

_Nolan: What point is that?_

_House: That she has the power. She holds all the cards and I don't stand a chance. _

_*Silence*_

_Nolan: Do you think she's wielding power over you? Like a weapon?_

_House: No_

_Nolan: You seem very sure of that._

_House: Because I know her. _

_Nolan: What do you know?_

_House: She's not out to hurt me. She loves me. She just has her own things to deal with. She just has to protect herself and do what's right for her._

_Nolan: You sound very confident in that._

_House: There's nothing to doubt. I'm the idiot here. It's not her. She loves me._

_Nolan: But love doesn't matter._

_House: She matters._

_*Pause*_

_Nolan: House, does Dr. Cuddy need you?_

_House: What's your point? We had emotionally charged sex, she walked out. It's nothing new! It doesn't mean anything. _

_Nolan: Forget the sex. Answer the question. Does Dr. Cuddy need you?_

_House: What she needs is for me to stop hurting her. She needs me to be a better man. She needs me to divorce that flake I married and stop being such an idiot._

_Nolan: But does she need you?_

_House: You're supposed to be helping me figure out how to stop this train wreck._

_Nolan: House! Does she need you?_

_House: No. If it wasn't for the medicine, no one would need me._

Cuddy felt her heart break at his words. How could he not know how important he was to her? To Wilson? To so many people in his life? Of course she needed him. It's why she sought him out when she was troubled and afraid, why she was drawn to him when things were uncertain and when they were good. He was her anchor. And yet he didn't seem to know.

It's all so convoluted, she thought as she made a cup of tea and sat down at the table. Love, respect, need, power, they all seemed to battle for position and importance in him. He said love doesn't matter, but he desperately needed the nurture and acceptance that only love could bring. He said he wanted respect above all, but if it didn't come naturally, without the manipulation of power and control was it really as important? And if you only recognized respect if it came through need, wasn't it more deference than admiration?

She'd spent so much of her life seeking love. She'd always known respect. Her mother had respected her mind and her skill even though she hadn't liked her. Her dad had been much like House in believing respect was more important than love and he gave it freely. Oh, he'd been more affectionate with her than her mother had been, but in the end his pride in her had been more about respect than love. It was a theme in her life: well respected, but not liked. House had been right when he'd told her she wanted to hear someone say they loved her one grunt at a time. It was crude, but accurate. He'd also been right that she ran from what she wanted and had no idea what she needed. It was evidenced by the fact she continued to push him away instead of finding a way to work through the obstacles together.

Cuddy looked down at the next page and saw the date. It was the day of the simulation, the day he'd seemed so shaken but wouldn't stay and talk with her: "I just think it would be better to talk to Nolan right now and not the woman I need to make love to but can't." It was after this session he'd knocked on her door and everything had seemed to change.

_Nolan: I was surprised to get your call._

_House: My neediness knows no bounds._

_Nolan: What's going on?_

_House: I think I was wrong._

_Nolan: About?_

_House: Me._

_Nolan: Should I plan on piecing together the puzzle from these little tidbits, or can we go straight to the point?_

House explained what had happened at the simulation. He actually told the story, every detail, every response and even shared the feelings he experienced throughout the day without additional questioning or prodding. As she read the transcript, she recognized the man who'd come to her door that night: open and honest, fearless with his emotions.

_Nolan: It doesn't surprise me they trusted and respected you._

_House: Right. Because you've seen the potential hidden beneath the psychosis._

_Nolan: I asked you to sit with me when my father was dying._

_House: You're a lonely man._

_Nolan: I chose you to sit with me, House. And it wasn't for the medicine, as we both know. _

_House: You trying to tell me something, Doc? 'Cause I'll have to tell you what I tell Wilson…_

_Nolan: How does it feel to finally understand that you matter? That you don't have to provide all the answers to get the respect and love you need?_

_*Pause*_

_House: I guess this is where you step out from behind the curtain and tell me what I've been seeking I've had all along._

_Nolan: You feel like a character in the Wizard of Oz? Are you the tin man or lion?_

_House: Not Dorothy?_

_Nolan: You tell me. _

_House: I don't have the legs for that dress._

_Nolan: The shoes might be an issue, too._

_House: You do realize this little analogy make you the Wizard. You're a hoax._

_Nolan: chuckles And who is Dr. Cuddy?_

That's a good question, Cuddy thought._  
_

_House: She's home._


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you so much for the amazing responses to the last chapter. I hope you enjoy the next..._

_Disclaimer: Same_

* * *

Chapter 21

_This should absolve you of the pathological guilt that will be creeping in about now, even though you know I planted the file for you to read. (At least I hope you've figured that out, or you're not the woman I think you are.) _

The note was attached to a release form: standard protocol to receive a copy of a medical file. His signature was at the bottom.

Cuddy grinned. He really was covering all the bases. As she detached the envelope that was clipped to the back of the form and removed the enclosed document, she wondered what other surprises House had in store. To be honest, the clues and gifts he'd already provided had charmed her more than any romantic gift she'd ever received.

_Certificate of Annulment._

Her eyes widened as she read the words. He'd done it. His marriage was declared "void ab initio" through a declaration of nullity. It was the final barrier, the one thing keeping her from moving forward with their reconciliation.

She flipped the page to find another hand written note, the last in the file.

_Why aren't we together? _

Cuddy laughed and reached for the phone. Why, indeed?

"Mom," she spoke into the receiver. "I need your help."

* * *

She could see him as she walked down the hall of his apartment. He was sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the bathtub. His right leg was stretched out in front of him, the left one bent at the knee, as he stared down at his hand.

It was déjà vu, and not of the pleasing kind.

He looked up as she stopped in the doorway and released a groan.

"It's not what you think," he said, immediately defensive.

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms in front of her.

"You're not on the bathroom floor again?"

"I'm not on the verge of a relapse," he said. "I was expecting you."

"Clearly."

"I was," he insisted. "I was washing up and dropped something on the floor."

She stepped into the room and stood across from where he was seated.

"It seems every important moment in our relationship happens in the bathroom."

"Is this an important moment?"

"I hope so."

"Then you should be groveling or something."

"Groveling," she choked back a laugh. "For what?"

He shook his head in feigned disappointment. "I bared my heart and soul and all I get is lip."

She took the hand he stretched out toward her and pulled him up.

"I'm not giving you lip," she said. "Yet."

He sighed as he looked down at her, standing so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "Are you going to make us have an annoying heart-to-heart first?"

"Nope," she said, and grabbed his belt, pulling him into her. "We're going to have sex first."

He stared at her in stunned surprise.

"Seriously?"

He barely registered her breathy chuckle before she kissed him.

It was just a light brushing of her lips on his, a bare whisper. But then he leaned into her, his body pushing her into the wall as he demanded more.

His tongue was insistent and yet immensely gentle as he traced the recesses of her mouth, tasting her in thorough, leisurely licks. He possessed the perfect balance of tenderness and aggression to feed her desire, and though is hands remained at his sides, his body seemed to surround her with in a force field of heat and hunger.

Cuddy reached out to take his hand, but his fist was clenched and unyielding, holding something tight in the palm. She pulled away from his embrace and frowned up at him. Surely not…It couldn't be…

The slight twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth removed her fears. She tapped a finger on his knuckles, silently demanding he open his hand.

He didn't hesitate. His expectant blue eyes held her captive as he tentatively opened his hand for her.

She looked down and her breath caught.

_A ring._

When he took it between the fingers of his right hand and held it out to her, she could see it was custom made. It looked to be titanium with three stones looping around what could only be a tiny house. There were three different stones, each a different color.

_A family ring._

It only took a second for her to process the birthstones: hers, his and…Rachel's.

_Their family. _

"If you wear this," he said. "You'll be forever branded as mine."

She looked up at him then, her eyes bright and smiling, her grin amused and flirtatious.

"I've been branded yours for a very long time."

He smiled almost shyly as he slid the ring on her finger.

"It fits."

Her hand reached up to cup his chin and her fingers ran along the scruff of his beard.

"I need you," she whispered.

House saw something in her expression, a sense of awe and reverence, a respect and longing that went far beyond the love they'd shared. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving heavily along his throat; Cuddy followed the movement with her eyes, unconsciously biting her lip in response.

House groaned and grasped her waist, pulling her swiftly to him. She could feel the beat of his heart, evidence of both his nervous response and quickened desire. She could feel his breath along her jaw and below her ear as he nuzzled into her; it sent a jolt of electricity from neck to core. It only took that touch to set her on fire. By the time his lips met hers, she felt as if she could eat him alive. He was achingly hot and hard; her skin was damp and sensitive. Her body demanded attention and she had no intention of denying it.

House was vaguely aware of movement as she pulled him with her into the bedroom. Emotions coursed through him in powerful waves, a mix of tenderness and passion, of fear and need. He'd only been so overcome once before, when she'd come to him after the crane collapse, when she'd first said she loved him. But this was different. Where there was calm determination, there now was trust and confidence. She was bold and fearless, and shining with a love for him that was simply breathtaking.

He felt the mattress at the bend of his knees as she gently shoved him back onto the bed. House sat mesmerized as her fingers moved to the top button of her blouse.

"We're really not going to talk first?" His voice was both astounded and eager. His eyes glistened with the anticipation of a boy given the chance to see a woman naked for the first time, but his jaw clenched with the determination of a man practicing great self-control.

Cuddy paused. "Did you want to?"

"I don't know."

And he didn't. He felt lost and confused. They had so much to talk about, so much they should work through and determine. But her blouse was undone. And she was wearing a red bra. And this was sex…with Cuddy.

House slid his hands up her thighs to her hips and pulled her into the space between his legs. Cuddy tossed the blouse aside and grinned at him when he noticed the envelope at her cleavage.

"For me?"

She nodded and bit on her lip again. Didn't she know what that did to him? Maybe she did and she was intentionally driving him insane.

"Is this a game?" he said. "Should I remove it with my teeth?"

"You can take it however you want."

House had the feeling she was talking about more than the envelope. His erection must have agreed because it was pressing painfully against his zipper now.

He reached for the envelope, slowly removing it from the band of her bra. He took the opportunity to slide his fingers along the slope of her breast and across her nipple. Her breath quickened.

"This won't take long?" he asked for reassurance as he opened the envelope.

"That depends on you."

He quickly looked down at the contents.

"It's all kind of primitive, but I didn't have as much time to plan," she said, suddenly feeling nervous.

He wasn't concerned with style; he was more interested in content. He looked over the pages copied from her calendar where a recurring meeting was highlighted: "Nolan" was the notation.

House frowned. "You're going to see Nolan?"

"You're not the only one screwed up," she explained.

He appeared satisfied with that answer.

The next few pages were vouchers, much like the ones he had given her.

"Get out of chores free," he read. "Clean-freak Cuddy won't like that."

He flipped to the next. "Take the day off and play," he read. "Dean-of-Medicine Cuddy will hate when I use this one."

"Say what's really bothering you…oooh, dangerous."

She grinned, enjoying his teasing as he ran through the pages. He continued to offer commentaries on each voucher, but she knew he understood the deeper meaning behind the notes. With each remark he was accepting her apology and her commitment to be a better partner.

"Sex," he read. "I need a voucher for sex? Just one?"

"Of course not," she laughed, and yanked the page from his hand. "I just wanted an excuse to say 'any sex with you is good sex'."

His eyes widened in horror. "Are you objectifying me?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," he said. "I know it's all just a front to hide your deep, abiding love for me."

"And it meets a need in you."

"But only when you do it."

"Obviously."

He read the next voucher.

"Forgiveness," he looked up at her, his expression serious. "Should I use this now?"

"No need," she said. "You're in good standing."

He nodded and read the next receipt.

"Your choice…I get to choose my gift?" His eyes were wide with exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Dangerous, I know," she said. "But I trust you."

She yanked the pages from his hand and tossed them onto the side table.

"You can read the rest later," she said. "This is more important."

She handed him a card she pulled from the back pocket of her jeans.

As he read it, his expression changed from playful to concerned.

"A lawyer?"

"It's the lawyer I used to adopt Rachel," she said.

His expression was blank as his eyes searched hers. She couldn't guess what he thinking, but she could clearly see he was desperately trying to read her.

"I'm not expecting or demanding anything," she quickly explained. "Whatever you want is okay with me. There's no pressure to this at all, but I wanted you to know…there's no other man I'd rather be her father."


	22. Chapter 22

_Thank you all for your patience in awaiting this next chapter. As for the smut...blame it on Vicpei._

_Disclaimer: If I'd been connected with the show, we would have had a lot more fun and angst in this ship._

* * *

**Chapter 22**

His head dropped.

For a second she thought he was looking at the card again and digesting her words, but Cuddy quickly saw he was averting his eyes, nervous and uncomfortable. It was not the reaction she'd anticipated.

"I didn't give you the transcripts to play on your guilt," he mumbled. "You don't have to fix things."

He stretched out his arm to place the card on his nightstand and began to rub his leg. Cuddy didn't miss the significance of the gesture, or his words.

"Of course I'd let a man adopt my daughter just to make him feel better," she said. "Who cares about what she needs, right?"

House closed his eyes and shook his head. "I didn't mean that," he muttered under his breath.

_Oh, you beautiful man._

Cuddy ran her hand along his jaw from his ear to chin, and with gentle pressure, urged him to look at her.

His eyes were that glossy blue that could so easily cause her to drown in the vulnerable depths. When he looked at her so openly, his heart revealed and fragile, she felt her own walls crumble, exposing her deepest hopes and fears while igniting the courage to protect the delicate chord that tied them together.

"This isn't about guilt or fixing anything," she said as her thumb traced the outline of his lower lip. "You know I want this."

He searched her, examining her expression, counting the pulse at her neck, staring at the set of her mouth, before his eyes finally locked on hers.

"You've known it all along."

And he had. Things between them had become so convoluted and obscure over the years he'd come to doubt his initial instincts. He'd questioned a lot of things between them, his insecurities manifesting in unexpected areas, causing him to question his own wants and desires.

Cuddy stepped between his legs and slipped her arms around his neck.

"If to negatives make a positive, Rachel is going to turn out great."

"You're no negative," he said. "You just have really shitty taste in men."

She smiled. He was absorbing what she was suggesting. She could see it in his expression and in the way he so easily transitioned into teasing and self-deprecation. This was what she'd expected, what she'd wanted. She could almost see him processing, becoming comfortable with the idea, and silently communicating his emotional response as he came to a determination.

"I'd rather wait until she's older," he said. "She should be the one to choose."

He must have seen what his words did to her because his hands slid up to cup her waist and pull her closer.

"As long as you know I choose you," she said. "I'll always choose you."

He quirked his brow, acknowledging her reference to the words he'd once said to her. "That's a hefty promise," he said as his hands slid up her back to grasp the hook of her bra.

"Not a promise," she corrected as the straps slid down her arms. "A truth."

House eyed the fabric as it hung on the tips of her breasts then lightly tugged, gasping for air when her breasts were at least revealed.

She flung the garment to the side and began to caress his shoulders and chest. "You act like you've never seen me naked."

"You always take my breath away," he shyly admitted. "I can never believe you're really here with me."

Cuddy slid her hands down to the hem of his shirt and tugged it up his torso. "Oh, I'm here," she said and pulled the shirt over his head. When he moved to fully remove it, she stopped him, twisting it around his wrists as she pushed him back onto the bed and fell on top of him.

She was stretched over his body, her hands holding his wrist as her knees bent and parted to straddle his waist.

"Now this is what I'm talkin' about," he growled as he watched her breasts swing at his face.

Her chuckle was quickly swallowed when he craned his neck to take her nipple into his mouth. It was as if an electric pulse shot from her breast to core. She simultaneously wanted to pull away and beg for more.

House licked and nipped and pulled on the hardened nub, enjoying how she immediately responded to him with quickened breaths and tightened thighs. It was exhilarating to know he possessed as much power over her as she did over him. One touch and they both were lost.

Or maybe she wasn't so lost. She pulled away, maintaining the grip on his wrist while putting just enough distance between them to prevent and further sampling of her divine nubs.

"Why did you give me the transcripts?"

His head flopped back on the bed and he let out a groan. "You said we were having sex before we talked," he almost whined.

"I lied."

He watched her breasts move as her chest rose and fell with each breath.

"Then you should have talked before the bra came off," he said. "There's no way I can focus."

"I'd like to be completely naked with you," she gave him that sexy half-smile of hers. "I'd like feel you inside me as I ride you like a wild horse."

He couldn't close his mouth. Cuddy and dirty talk was the equivalent of a teenage wet dream. He felt the blood rush to his groin and his chest constrict as he tried to remember to breathe.

Cuddy arched her back and sank deeper down on her knees so her breast could graze his chest.

"You're not playing fair."

She grinned at him. "I'm not playing at all."

She slid up his body again in a slow, steady move that he'd seen her do many times in yoga. It had long been a fantasy to be her mat, and now his body became inflamed with the heat of the experience.

"I'm afraid you felt pressured to share," she softly said as she stared at his mouth. "I don't want you to feel pressured to…"

"There's nothing in those transcripts I wouldn't tell you," he assured her as he moved his hips beneath her. The zipper in his jeans was becoming uncomfortable. "I want to tell you. This just makes it easier...except for your dominatrix guilt torture."

He moved his arms, but she gripped his wrists even tighter with the shirt.

"You gonna tie me up?"

"I might," she grinned.

"You do know that's been a long-time dream of mine, right?" His smile was both endearing wonder and sex appeal. "Only usually it's in your office."

She gave a husky laugh. "I'll keep that in mind," she teased. "Right now there's only one thing I want to do."

House grinned lecherously. "What's that?"

"I want to taste every part of you," she said.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned. "I love it when you talk that way."

"But I don't want you to touch me," she said.

"What?" he was ready to argue. "That's not going to work."

"Oh, it will work." She moved against his jeans and felt him standing at alert, reaching out to her. "See?" she said, and winked at him.

"Why Dr. Cuddy," he said. "I think you're a tease."

"Teasing is the last thing I want to do," she said. "I plan to follow-through completely. Now promise you won't touch me until I say."

_As if I'd ever say no._

"I promise."

Cuddy released his wrists and began showering kisses over his face and neck, over his chest and down his stomach. Her hands were as hungry as her mouth, and she was thorough. Perhaps her obsessive perfectionism had its place, he thought, but then she was removing his jeans and boxers. She nipped his thighs as skin was exposed until he was totally naked.

He'd never get over how she looked at him, as if he wasn't scared and damaged, but the most perfect man she'd ever seen. Her lust was apparent and he felt…humbled and proud, and hot and wanting, and he wanted…

He gasped when he felt her moist, heated breath on his balls

He couldn't stop his legs from opening slightly or his body from pushing toward her. It was perfectly natural to instinctively reach for such ecstasy.

He tongue made circles around his sac. "Oh, wow," he said, the sensation sending bolts of electricity throughout his body.

Cuddy hummed against him and his hips shot off the bed.

"Feel good?" she asked.

"God, yes."

She ran her tongue up the underside of his erection, circled the tip and returned before sucking his balls into her mouth.

"You're killing me," he groaned.

She smiled against him.

"Don't stop," he rushed to say.

Cuddy had no intention of stopping.

She used her lips to nibble him. Up and down, up, around and down. She didn't miss a spot, except the…

His entire body spasmed as her tongue pushed into the tiny opening at his tip.

"Cuddy," he cried out.

She took him fully into her mouth, sucking and pulling, sliding up and down, and humming her pleasure. His body rocked as the pressure built and the inevitable eruption was evident.

"Cuddy," he gasped, signaling she was close.

She increased the rhythm and pressure, her hand gripping the base of him while the fingers of her other hand slid around the back of his balls.

"I can't hold it."

Cuddy didn't want him too.

House realized what she intended and it sent him over the edge. Heat shot through him, his body rocked and trembled, and he desperately fisted fabric in his hands as spit and spilled and flowed into her mouth. He remained enclosed in the warmth of her mouth, though her movements had stilled. The gentle lick of her tongue helped him ease into decent and kept him alive and spasmodic, sensitive to even the slightest movement and touch.

"Oh! Oh…ha…oh," he simultaneously moaned and laughed as her mouth slid off him.

Cuddy came to lie beside him, her body pressed against his side, her arm bent and head propped on her hand as she watched him. He could feel her eyes on him, but was in a state of euphoria, reeling from the most amazing orgasm ever.

"Give me a minute," he finally said.

She released a husky chuckle.

"Take your time," she leaned down and whispered against his ear. "There's so much more to come."


End file.
